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She leaned across the low railing' and stared after 
Crane until he was lost to view. ( See page 49 ) 



Wilbur Crane’s 
Handicap 


By 

JOHN MAXWELL FORBES 
•• 

Author of 

^^Douhloons — and The GirV" 


Illustrated by A. O. Scott 




NEW YORK 

GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY 


Copyright, 1918, by 
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY 


All Rights Reserved 


SEP 26 idiS;.- 

'"Tl/C ill 


PRINTED IN U. S. A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

1. 

The Jail-Mark 

II 

II. 

The Temptation 

28 

III. 

The Red Arrow 

36 

IV. 

The Stowaway 

50 

V. 

Entombed 

57 

VI. 

The Red Arrow at Sea . 

64 

VII. 

In the Stoke-Hole .... 

73 

VIII. 

The Wreck of the Red Arrow 

85 

IX. 

On the Raft 

99 

X. 

The Mutiny 

109 

XI. 

The Dead-Line 

116 

XII. 

The Flying Fish 

126 

XIII. 

The Madman 

136 

XIV. 

The Conspiracy 

145 

XV. 

The Desertion of the Raft 

155 

XVI. 

The Blot on the Horizon . 

165 

XVII. 

Simon Burke is Strangely Agitated 

174 

XVIII. 

Jealousy 

184 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. Unmasked 197 

XX. Crane Makes His Plea ... 210 

XXL The Blow Falls 225 

XXII. Benny 239 

XXIII. Jessie 251 

XXIV. Kismet 258 

XXV. “Wilbur! Wilbur! Come to Me!” 268 

XXVI. Reward According to Works 279 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


She leaned across the low railing and stared 

after Crane until he was lost to view . FrontispUce 
{See Page 49) 

FACING 

His eyes were fixed on the group of sullen 

men behind the dead line {See Page 125) . 124 

“Stop! Let her pass!** cried Captain 

Robinson {See Page 222) 222 

Jessie had flown into Crane’s arms and hid- 
den her face upon his breast {See Page 2^^) 254 


WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


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WILBUR CRANE'S HANDICAP 

CHAPTER I 

THE JAIL-MARK 

The wicket beside the great rivet-studded 
gate opened and Crane passed through to 
freedom. The porter nodded to him kindly, 
but the released prisoner did not notice this 
friendliness. During his five years’ sojourn 
here he had gained a reputation for good con- 
duct, and favors had been granted him; but 
he could not cast a single regretful glance be- 
hind him at the granite pile. 

How dazzlingly bright the sun was! It 
shone upon the dirty pavements and glared 
into his eyes from the brick walls across the 
way. It was a sweltering day — just such an- 
other as that on which he had first seen those 
walls. 

All the agony and horror of that time — the 
bitterness and the wrong done him — flooded 
back upon Wilbur Crane’s soul. He clenched 
his hands until the finger nails bit into his 
palms, and walked faster. 

II 


12 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


In a minute he reached a busier street, the 
bustle of which seemed confusing after the 
monastic silence of the jail. He halted at the 
corner to get his bearings. 

His face was of that unnatural pallor that 
confinement imposes. He had not been 
shaved for four days, but his hair had not 
attained its accustomed length. 

He would not raise his hat the better to 
wipe the moisture from his brow for fear that 
the ^‘prison clip” would be observed. This 
was, however, a foolish precaution; the gen- 
eral jail-mark was plain upon him. 

He started to board a street car for the 
city, but fearing that he might be particularly 
noticed, shrank away and took to the pave- 
ment again. Yet Wilbur Crane might have 
possessed his soul in ease. A dead man is 
soon forgotten. A man who goes to prison is 
forgotten even more quickly. 

Nevertheless, he walked into Boston and 
with hesitating steps sought the streets he had 
known so well in the past. At a certain cor- 
ner where traffic clogged the crooked cross- 
ing he suddenly found himself looking into 
the tonneau of an automobile driven by a uni- 


THE JAIL-MARK 


13 


formed chauffeur. Reclining against the 
cushions was a striking looking young woman, 
rather languid in her attitude and with a cer- 
tain pallor of countenance. 

The moment he saw her the discharged 
convict fell back behind the crowd, stooping, 
hiding his bulk from any chance glance of the 
girl in the car. 

“Jessie 1” he whispered, and leaned for sup- 
port against a store wall. 

His was not the only gaze attracted to the 
girl. Came striding through the crowd to 
the corner just as the traffic officer blew his 
whistle a rather well-set-up fellow, dark of 
complexion, fashionably dressed. 

He waved his stick and shouted, and the 
girl turned her head slightly to look at him 
and smile. She opened the door of the ton- 
neau, the young man leaped in, and they 
rolled on in the stream of vehicles. 

The discharged convict glanced after them, 
muttering in his throat. His gaze fastened 
upon the back of the dark young man was not 
a friendly look. A plain-clothes man strolled 
past, gave him a second glance, and then ad- 
vised him in no unmistakable terms: 


14 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


‘‘Move on, ’bo! This is no place for you to 
be star-gazing.” 

The words not alone startled Wilbur Crane 
to action. They made him think. His very 
attitude, his manner of a beaten dog, was at- 
tracting invidious attention. 

He had long thought of this day — this time 
when he should be freed and once more should 
face the world that had treated him so unfairly. 

If he held up his head, if he looked every 
man in the face, if he ignored the prison 
mark, he would force his brother men to re- 
spect him. For he was guiltless. He had 
been punished for another’s crime. 

It was near noon, and he entered a restau- 
rant of which he had once been an honored 
patron. The handsome dining-room was 
fairly well filled. He sought what had been 
his favorite table by a window and sat down. 
None of his old business acquaintances might 
be in at this hour ; if they came, he hoped he 
might fail of recognition. 

He realized what a change two years had 
made in him ; the once well-groomed Wilbur 
Crane was scarcely recognizable in the un- 
shaven individual who drew his chair to the 


THE JAIL-MARK IS 

table. It was little wonder that the waiters 
looked at each other askance. 

No one came to serve him; but after a few 
moments the head waiter bustled up. 

beg of yo’, sah, to go into de bah-room. 
You will be served at de lunch-countah,” he 
said, his black face plainly showing his sur- 
prise at Crane’s presumption. 

Crane aroused himself and glanced swiftly 
about. None of the other guests had noticed 
the little by-play. Of course he should not 
have ventured in here. It was not alone that 
he could not meet his former friends; he was 
not now even in their walk in life. He looked 
appealingly into the waiter’s face ; in the old 
days he had tipped the man royally; but the 
darkey did not for a moment suspect Crane’s 
identity. 

“Yes, certainly — I will go at once,” he said, 
rising hastily. Then he added, almost in- 
voluntarily: “Even you do not remember 
me, Tully.” 

He was gone before the scandalized Tully 
had recovered from his surprise. The light 
of recognition slowly dawned in his black 
countenance. 


16 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

“Ma soul! dat was Mr. Crane — as sure’s 
I’m bawn it was! An’ I didn’t know him!” 
He shook his head slowly, still gazing at the 
swinging doors through which Crane had 
passed. “Just to t’ink ob it — I didn’t know 
him!” he repeated, almost in horror. 

The street doors swung inward and two 
men entered. Tully’s professional smile re- 
turned to his black visage, and he set two 
chairs at the very table where Crane had just 
been. 

The new guests came forward and accepted 
the chairs. Tully waited upon them himself 
— an honor which was an honor indeed, for 
the head waiter knew the importance and 
dignity of his office. 

There could scarcely be men more dis- 
similar than the two now seated at the table. 
Both were past the half-century mark — one 
considerably more than that. He was a hand- 
some old man of ruddy complexion and sil- 
very-white hair and beard, the hue which 
proves that once beard and hair have been as 
black as jet. His bright eyes were merry, 
his expression of countenance jovial. His 
companion was a man of saturnine face and 


THE JAIL-MARK 


17 


somewhat gloomy air. His hair was still 
dark, sprinkled lightly with gray, but his 
smoothly shaven face was innumerably wrin- 
kled. He was a small, lean man, quick of 
movement, and with restless black eyes and 
long, talon-like fingers which were never 
still. 

“So the doctors say a sea voyage is the 
proper thing, eh?” the lean man observed, un- 
folding his napkin. “Your daughter doesn’t 
look like an invalid, Martell.” 

“She isn’t,” the other replied promptly. 
“But she is delicate. Her mother had some 
lung trouble, and Jessie is just the right age 
for anything of the kind to make its appear- 
ance. This abominable New England climate 
would get a grip on india-rubber lungs. Yes, 
she will take a long voyage — she and her 
aunt.” 

“Hem! I suppose you know Grandon’s 
wishes?” suggested the other, favoring Mar- 
tell with a sharp glance out of his narrow eyes. 

“Says he wants a vacation, too — wants to go 
with ’em, I suppose,” and the other chuckled. 
“Young folk will be young folk, Burke. We’d 
better let ’em go, hadn’t we? I must say he’s 


18 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


served us faithfully since — hem — well, for 
five years,’’ he concluded, while a little cloud 
crossed his jovial face. 

man had better stick to his work,” said 
Burke. ^^Grandon needs no sea voyage.” 

‘^No, no! of course not. But we old fel- 
lows mustn’t stand in the way of the young 
folks enjoying themselves. It’s all right, 
Burke. The whole shooting-match will be 
theirs some day, and I tell you it makes me 
happy to know that when I’ve dropped off 
I shair leave Jessie in such good hands. I 
shall feel safer if Don accompanies her on 
this trip.” 

‘‘Well, well, have it your own way,” said 
the lean man shortly. “By the way, where is 
she going?” 

“The physicians say a voyage into the 
tropics will turn the trick for her. I had 
thought of sending her out on the Red Arrow 
to Buenos Aires. But there’s your own 
steamer, the Fedora; she’s bound through the 
Straits to Valparaiso, isn’t she? Jessie rather 
wants to go there before coming home, and 
the Fedora is better fitted for passenger traffic 
than the Red Arrow!* 


THE JAIL-MARK 


19 


“No, no! you don’t want her aboard the 
Fedor a , Burke said, hastily. “Really, the 
steamer isn’t fit for passengers.” 

“Why, she was used altogether for passen- 
gers when she belonged to the Blue Anchor 
Line — before you bought her, Burke!” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” returned the other im- 
patiently. “But that was years ago. I’ve 
had her all ripped out inside, and there’s 
scarcely room for the officers and crew. 
Really, Martell, it would be impossible.” 

“Very well. I suppose you have no objec- 
tion to the two ladies sailing on the Red 
Arrow?^^ 

“Certainly not — certainly not. And if 

things were different aboard the Fedora ** 

Just then Tully appeared with their plates. 

“Mr. Martell, sah,” he said as he laid the 
table with professional skill, “yo’ just done 
set down in a chair wot a ghos’ set in.” 

“Eh?” exclaimed the old gentleman, look- 
ing up. 

“Yes, yo’ is — huh, huh!” chuckled Tully. 
“A ghos’ been settin’ dar, jest ’fore yo’ come 
in. Leastways, I t’ought he war a ghos’.” 


20 WILBUR CRANE^S HANDICAP 


“What d’you mean — ghost?** asked Martell 
in surprise, good-naturedly. 

“Somebody wot I’ve served at dis yere 
table hundreds ob times — Mr. Crane, sab.” 

“What!” Martell gasped. 

Burke dropped his knife with a clatter 
upon the floor and stooped to pick it up. 

“Sure’s you’re bawn, sah — an’ he looked 
awful po’ly.” 

“Poor fellow!” Martell said compassion- 
ately. “Poor fellow!” 

“The rascal!” ejaculated Burke, bringing 
his twitching face into view again. 

“Come, come, don’t speak so harshly of 
him,” said Martell gravely. “I can’t help 
pitying him, Burke, and I intended to see him 
when he got out. His time isn’t up for several 
months yet, but I suppose he got something 
for good behavior. Five years, Burke! It’s a 
long time!” 

“It should have been ten!” snarled the 
other. “Only five years for as clear* a case of 
forgery as ever was! There was no justice in 
it.” 

“You are still bitter,” said the older man 
gravely. “But I cannot forget that Wilbur 


THE JAIL-MARK 


21 


Crane was the son of my old friend and con- 
fidential adviser. His father was with me 
ten years before you came into the firm, 
Burke. I looked upon Wilbur as a son.” 

^‘And see how he repaid you for it!” snarled 
the other. 

“True — true,” murmured Martell. “Yet 
I feel sorry for him.” He sat silent in his 
chair for some moments, his food untouched. 
“I’m glad Jessie is going away so soon,” he 
continued. “She thought so much of Will. 
They were almost like brother and sister when 
they were children. Well, well, I must see 
if I can find the poor fellow and help him 
to some honest employment. He’s under a 
terrible handicap.” 

“More fool you,” interjected Burke. 

“Tut, tut! that’s what you always say,” re- 
turned the older man. “I don’t believe I ever 
lost any thing by doing a fellow-creature a 
kindness.” 

Martell’s luncheon was spoiled for him by 
Tully’s information. He dallied with his 
food till Burke had finished. Then together 
they walked back to the great granite building 
on Commercial Street, over the portal of 


22 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


which, in gilt letters, was the sign, Martell 
& Burke, 

Meanwhile, the man, the memory of whom 
had caused Martell some sad thoughts and 
Burke some bitter ones, had gone on and 
satisfied his appetite at a more modest and far 
less attractive eating house upon a back street. 
After forcing himself to eat the food he 
ordered, for even the prison fare had been 
more appetizing than this, he went out again 
upon the hot, evil-smelling thoroughfare. 

The sun beat down upon the pavement and 
radiated from the brick tenement houses. The 
alleys and courts reeked with the odor of de- 
caying vegetables and other filth. The nar- 
row walks before the low saloons steamed 
from their daily bath of beer-dregs. There 
was no air stirring here. The wretched crea- 
tures who occupied the houses were driven 
out into the streets and crouched in the door- 
ways against the brick walls on the shady 
side. 

Crane wandered aimlessly, feeling him- 
sett on a level with these people. He was, 
indeed, lower than they, for he bore the stain 
of the prison on his soul, the jail-mark in his 
face! 


THE JAIL-MARK 


23 


The years since his sentence had passed 
like a horrid dream. In all that time he had 
heard little from the outside world. Nobody 
had inquired for him ; nobody had shown him 
that he was remembered, as did the friends of 
so many of his fellow-prisoners ; he had been 
forgotten of men. And now that he was once 
more free he was more alone than ever. 

In the old days Wilbur Crane had had 
many friends; but that Wilbur Crane was 
dead. In his place was a creature aged by 
woe and wretchedness, without friends, with- 
out hope, a derelict of humanity upon this sea 
of life. 

“I’ll get as far away from Boston as I can,” 
he determined fiercely. “I’ve a little money 
in my pocket. It won’t carry me far inland ; 
so I’d better take ship. I’m strong, and I can 
learn. Some shipping agent will get me a 
berth, greenhorn as I am, if I’ll go cheap 
enough.” 

With this thought he made his way to the 
waterfront, and entered the first shipping of- 
fice he saw. A man sat tipped back in a chair 
with his feet on a desk and a cigar between his 
teeth. 


24 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


“What can I do for you?” he asked. 

“Do you know of a chance for a man on any 
out-going steamer?” Crane asked. 

''Red Arrow sails day after to-morrow,” 
responded the man, taking his feet down and 
hitching his chair nearer the desk. “What 
can you do?” 

He took his pen and drew an open ledger 
toward him. Then he looked up at the appli- 
cant. He looked him over slowly from head 
to foot. He glanced a second time at the un- 
shaven face and rough, uncombed hair from 
which the applicant had removed his hat. 
Then he shook his head slowly and put the 
pen back. 

“You won’t do, my man,” he said, shortly. 

Crane did not understand. “I can do a 
man’s work, if I do look rather pale,” he said. 
“And I want to get away from this place. 
I’ll go cheap enough.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” returned the shipping 
agent dryly. “But there’s no berth for you on 
the Red Arrow. We don’t ship the like of 
you.” 

“What’s the matter with me?” demanded 
Crane in more amazement than anger. 


25 


THE JAIL-MARK 

“Come, my man, you’d better step out of 
here. We’ve got no use for you. We don’t 
ship jail-birds. Now get along.” 

Crane staggered as though he had been 
struck. His eyes blazed and he clenched his 
hands. 

“Come, git!” exclaimed the man brutally, 
and the applicant controlled himself and 
obeyed. 

He had no heart to try at another office. 
He got down upon the nearest wharf and 
gazed across at the shipping on the East Bos- 
ton side. Among all those tall-masted ships 
and grim-hulled steamers surely there was 
one that would take him away from this 
cursed city! Yet he had not the courage to 
apply aboard any of them. 

He sat on the wharf till long after sunset. 
All the places of business thereabout had 
closed and the workmen gone. A man who 
was evidently a dock watchman looked at him 
suspiciously, so he got up and moved away. 
Involuntarily his feet led him down Commer- 
cial Street. He came to the building in which 
were the offices of Martell & Burke, shipping 


26 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


merchants and shipowners. The main door 
was closed and the clerks had gone. 

He turned up the narrow street beside the 
building. At one of the windows was the 
desk he had once occupied. What dreams he 
had dreamed there, while he mechanically 
added column after column of figures! He 
was fast rising to the position of confidential 
clerk which his father had held. Some day 
he might be a partner in the firm. And some 
day, too, perhaps, he would form another 
partnership — with the fairest, sweetest girl 
who ever lived! 

He halted with despair at his heart. All 
that was ended. Like a bolt from a summer 
sky an awful thing had fallen upon him and 
his life was wrecked! Forever an outcast 
among men, with the brand of forger on his 
character! 

Crane wheeled about and would have 
rushed out of the alley had not a door beside 
him suddenly opened. He turned to look. 
The lean, wrinkled face of Simon Burke was 
framed in the narrow opening. 

‘Who are you? What do you want?” he 
snarled. 


THE JAIL-MARK 


27 


The fugitive turned away and would have 
gone without a word, but Burke caught him 
by the sleeve. “I know you!” he cried, with 
an almost exulting chuckle. “Don’t try to 
run! You’re the very person I want to see. 
Come in.” 

He held the door invitingly open. Crane 
hesitated, staring intently into his ugly, 
weazened face. 

“Come in,” repeated Simon Burke. “There 
is nobody here. I heard you were released 
to-day and I hoped to see you.” 

An ugly flush mounted in the younger 
man’s cheek, but he stepped inside and the 
door was at once closed. 

“Come into my private office,” said Burke. 


CHAPTER II 

THE TEMPTATION 

A SINGLE gas jet burned in the room over 
Burke’s desk. The merchant sat down and 
motioned Crane to a chair before him. He 
scrutinized his visitor keenly with lids half 
closed over his shifting eyes. His long fin- 
gers drummed a nervous tattoo upon the arms 
of his chair. 

^‘How came you round here?” he asked 
suddenly and sharply. 

“The streets are free,” replied Crane, with 
doggedness. 

“I don’t mean that,” said the other. “I sup- 
pose you have a right to walk where you 
please. But I mean, how came you in the 
lane yonder at just this opportune moment? 
I expected a man to call upon me here, or I 
should not have been about myself at this 
late hour. But I wanted to see you. Crane. 
I intended to see you immediately on your re- 
lease; but according to my reckoning your 
time isn’t out for some months yet.” 

28 


THE TEMPTATION 29 

‘‘No. My sentence was shortened for good 
behavior,” responded the other dully. 

He wondered what Burke wanted with 
him. Even in the old days when he was one 
of Martell & Burke’s most trusted employees, 
the junior partner had never shown interest 
in his welfare. 

“Now you are out, what will you do?” de- 
manded the merchant. 

Crane looked up with flashing eyes. “Have 
you got me in here to taunt me with the fact 
that I won’t be able to find honest work in 
Boston?” he asked, half rising from his seat. 

“Nothing of the kind!” Burke replied, 
hastily. “My intentions are of the best. Crane. 
I am sorry for you ” 

“You showed your sorrow — you and Mr. 
Martell both — ^when you did all in your 
power to convict me of a crime of which I was 
innocent,” Crane cried, bitterly. 

Burke flushed darkly and his eyes narrowed 
to a mere slit, while the fingers continued to 
drum on the chair-arms. 

“We had to do our duty, greatly as we de- 
plored it,” he replied slowly. “Had you con- 
fessed — or shown the least contrition ” 


30 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


‘^Confessed? Shown contrition?” shouted 
Crane, jumping up and kicking back the chair 
in which he had been seated. “Could I con- 
fess a crime I never even contemplated? 
Should I show contrition for something I 
never did — as God is my witness? 

“What do you think I am?” He marched 
up and down the room, his eyes blazing, the 
perspiration pouring from his face. “Do you 
think that for a paltry two thousand dollars 
I would be false to the friend who had done 
so much for me, and had done so much for my 
father before me? What did I want of the 
money, and what became of it? I am poor 
to-day — ^without a cent besides this.” He 
drew a handful of small bills and silver from 
his pocket. “What do you suppose became of 
the money I was accused of getting on the 
forged check? If I had it, do you suppose I 
would go around in these clothes, and ” 

He broke off suddenly, picked up the chair 
he had kicked over and sat down. “There’s 
no use in talking this all over, Mr. Burke. 
What did you ask me in here for? What do 
you want of me?” 

“Young men have debts to pay sometimes 


THE TEMPTATION 


31 


that they don’t care to have their friends know 
about,” said Simon Burke, calmly. “There is 
more than one use to which you might have 
put the money.” 

“I was no gambler!” exclaimed Crane, still 
heatedly. “I left that for your son, Grandon. 
There might have been some reason for his 
taking two thousand, if all the stories of his 
college career are true.” 

The merchant’s face flushed again. “It 
does you no good to say such things about 
Don,” he snapped. 

“No. Nor does it do good for us to pro- 
long this interview,” and Crane rose again. 

“Wait a moment,” Burke cried hastily. “I 
invited you in here with the best of motives. 
I remember that you were a faithful em- 
ployee of the firm for some years before this — 
this unfortunate affair. Now I want to do 
what I can for you. You say you have no 
money — then you must work.” 

“Yes.” 

“But do you realize that it would be folly 
to try to get a position here? That you are 
wofully handicapped by your prison rec- 
ord?” 


32 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


‘‘I want to get as far away from Boston as 
I can.” 

“Then I can help you. There’s always a 
chance for a smart young fellow from the 
States in those South American cities. Why 
don’t you try them?” 

Crane eyed him suspiciously. 

“How am I to get there?” he asked. “The 
walking isn’t very good — to Buenos Aires, 
say.” 

“I’ll get you passage aboard a vessel of my 
own.” 

Crane still stared at the merchant. “What 
am I to do in return?” he asked. 

“Who says you are to do anything?” 
snapped Burke. 

“Then it will be the first time Simon Burke 
ever gave something for nothing.” 

“You won’t believe my intentions are good, 
then?” 

“Not a bit. But I want to get away from 
here. I want to go, badly. Tell me what 
you’ve got up your sleeve.” 

“I simply want a man who can keep his 
mouth shut and work with somebody else,” 
Burke finally said unblushingly. “Will you 
do it?” 


THE TEMPTATION 33 

“Do what? What is there to do?” 

“Mr. Pawlin will tell you that.” Simon 
Burke wet his dry lips with his tongue. He 
was pale now, and his fingers were twitching 
worse than ever. “It won’t be much to do — 
simply to stand watch while he does the work. 
It’s very simple.” 

“See here!” burst forth Crane. “What 
deviltry are you up to? What are you plan- 
ning to do — scuttle a ship?” Burke still gazed 
at him from under his lowered lids. “Sup- 
pose I should go to the proper parties and 
repeat this?” 

“They would scarcely believe the story of 
a man just out of prison.” 

“You scoundrel! I’ll have nothing to do 
with it. You feel safe in telling me this be- 
cause you know I wouldn’t be believed. 
Simon Burke, I believe this isn’t the first 
piece of deviltry you’ve planned. I am con- 
vinced that either you, or your precious son, 
Don, could tell more about that forged check 
than was told in court. Maybe I’ll find out 
for sure some day! And if I do, I’ll make you 
suffer what I’ve suffered!” Crane turned 
toward the door. 


34 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

“Don’t be a fool,” snarled the lean man at 
the desk. “You can’t hurt me. I can help 
you. If you want to leave the States here’s 
your chance.” 

“Not at that price. I won’t be bought like 
that. And, by heavens! I’ll see if I can’t put 
a stop to your wicked plans — whatever they 
may be. I’ll go to Mr. Martell himself.” 

Burke showed his teeth. “Do so, and get 
kicked out of his house for your pains,” he 
said. “You’ll find nobody friendly to you 
there.” 

“I’ll try,” declared the other doggedly. 

“Think you will get sympathy or pity from 
Martell — or from his daughter?” sneered 
Burke. “Martell will have nothing to do with 
you. And as for the girl, she is to marry my 
son and will not care to see a jail-bird.” 

Crane started forward with an inarticulate 
cry. The hot blood rushed into his face ; he 
clenched his hands and his eyes fairly blazed. 

“I don’t believe it! It’s true I saw them to- 
gether to-day ” 

“It is the truth!” repeated Burke with em- 
phasis. 

For an instant Crane looked as though he 


THE TEMPTATION 


35 


would spring at the older man’s throat The 
latter gazed up into his passion-distorted face 
quite calmly. Finally Crane turned to the 
door again. 

^^Better think twice,” said Burke, as though 
the outbreak had not occurred. “It will be 
a good chance for you to get away from Bos- 
ton.” 

“I have thought twice,” returned Crane 
hoarsely, glaring at his tormentor from the 
doorway. “And the answer is ‘No!’ Do 
you hear? I’ll not touch your dirty work, and 
if ever I see an opportunity to show you up in 
your true colors, Simon Burke, I’ll do it!” 

He slammed the door behind him. At the 
end of the alley he met a mahogany-faced, 
sailor-like individual coming in ; but he 
vouchsafed him no second glance as he hur- 
ried away from the vicinity of the shipping 
merchants’ offices. 


CHAPTER III 

THE RED ARROW 

When a man becomes desperate he usually 
does one of two things. Either he turns out- 
law against the rest of mankind, or he grows 
careless of what may betide and drifts with 
the current. 

Crane, when he left the offices of Martell 
& Burke, and his sudden rage had cooled, 
drifted into a state of dogged hopelessness. 
He had not a friend or relative in the world. 
The few dollars remaining in his pocket and 
the clothes on his back constituted all his pos- 
sessions. 

As his anger subsided his pace slackened, 
and he was soon wandering along the street 
with the same listless gait which had marked 
his course that afternoon. He finally came to 
Battery Street, crossed it, and turned up 
north. 

The street was full of music — such as it 
was. Here a street piano was rattling out a 
36 


THE RED ARROW 


37 


series of popular melodies, while the bare- 
legged, brown-faced children, roused from 
the lethargy caused by the heat of the day, 
danced in a ring about the instrument. A lit- 
tle farther along the street a man was twang- 
ing a harp, while in almost every saloon some 
sort of an instrument was being played. 
Across the street from the dance halls the slum 
lassies of the Salvation Army were conduct- 
ing a meeting in a room, and the noise of the 
tambourine and drum was deafening. 

Crane halted and looked about at the motley 
throng — at the brown-faced, chattering Ital- 
ians and Greeks, the hook-nosed Hebrews, the 
groups of Danish and Swedish sailors just 
off the freight boats, and the Portuguese labor- 
ers wrangling together on the curb. A steady 
stream of the dregs of humanity poured in 
and out of the swinging doors of the saloon ; 
groups of typical city “toughs” stood on the 
corners; women of more than doubtful char- 
acter paraded the walks. He looked on all 
this and shuddered. He was part of it! He 
was one of them! He was an associate of 
black-legs, and thieves, and disreputable 
creatures of all kinds! 


38 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


At North Square he entered a hotel op- 
posite the Italian theater. The cafe and bar- 
room were one. Along one wall little booths 
were fitted up for private parties. He went 
into one of these booths, gave his order to the 
waiter, and drew the curtains. 

The waiter was dilatory in serving him, 
and, after his supper was brought. Crane ate 
very slowly. By and by two men entered the 
stall next his own, and one of them roared the 
order to the waiter as though he were giving 
commands from the bridge of a ship. 

“Well, I s’pose you’re strapped as usual, 
Benny,” Crane heard the loud-voiced man re- 
mark. 

“Yes,” said the other doggedly. “An’ no 
fault o’ mine neither. If I’d got my dues I’d 
had my pockets well lined by now.” 

“That’s what you’re always saying,” ob- 
served the first speaker. “You couldn’t keep 
money if you had it.” 

“I’d like the chance to try. This is the first 
square meal I’ve had for three days. I’m as 
low down as that.” 

“Well, well! That comes of a sailor takin’ 
to the shore. I can get you a berth with me.” 


THE RED ARROW 


39 


“Where to?’’ 

“Out South. A good voyage, and good 
money. And, if you’ve got the pluck of a 
chicken,” here the speaker’s voice dropped to 
a hoarse whisper, which was evidently in- 
tended to reach his companion’s ear alone but 
which was plainly audible to Crane, “you’ll 
make better money than you’ll get a chance at 
ashore here, and with scarce a turn of your 
hand.” 

“What d’you mean?” asked the second man. 
“What’s the game?” 

“That don’t matter. I want to know if 
you’ll go first, my hearty. There’s a hundred 
dollars in it — if all goes well.” 

“A hundred to be divided between us?” 

“A hundred for you alone,” responded the 
other in the same low key. It’s straight goods, 
Benny. A hundred besides your wages, as 
sure’s my name’s Orrin Pawlin.” 

Crane suddenly sat up in his chair and lis- 
tened more intently. He had paid little at- 
tention before this to the conversation, al- 
though he could not help hearing it; but now 
he was interested. He had heard the name 
Pawlin before that evening. 


40 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


‘‘See here, Orrin, what is this?” he heard 
the second man ask. “A hundred is a good 
lump of money. Who pays it, an’ what does 
he pay it for? I don’t want to put my neck 
in a noose.” 

“You won’t — never fear,” returned Pawlin. 
“This ain’t no place to talk it over, though. 
Come, eat your supper, an’ we’ll go up to 
Jerry’s, where we can have a quiet room. It’ll 
be dead easy for you. I’ll do the work; all 
you’ll have to do is to keep your eye peeled 
and tip me a bit of a warning if there’s danger 
of anybody getting wise.” 

Silence fell between the two. Feeling sure 
that he would hear nothing more of interest. 
Crane arose quietly and left the booth. The 
two men in the neighboring stall did not no- 
tice him, but the curtain was looped up and 
Crane could see them. One was a lean, fer- 
ret-faced fellow of most unsavory appearance. 
The other he recognized without surprise. 
He remembered passing the seaman at the 
corner of Martell & Burke’s offices just after 
leaving the junior partner. 

He was a short, squatty man with deeply 
tanned face, black, crisp hair, and very sharp 


THE RED ARROW 


41 


eyes. He looked to be about fifty years of 
age, and wore little gold rings dangling from 
his ears. His shaven face was heavily seamed. 

Crane went to the desk, paid his bill, se- 
cured a night’s lodging, and was shown at 
once to his room. It was hours before the 
house was quiet so that he could sleep, and 
when it grew comparatively still his mind 
continued to dwell upon the conversation he 
had overheard and Simon Burke’s offer. He 
arose early and left the hotel, taking the most 
direct route to East Boston. 

“I can’t stand this,” he thought. shall 
go insane if I remain in this city — or grow as 
wicked as the people with whom I must as- 
sociate. I’ll find a captain who will take me, 
or I swear I’ll get aboard some ship and hide 
till she is out of sight of land. Then they’ll 
have to take me!^ 

Yet when he got over to the East Boston 
side he could not screw his courage to the 
point of asking on any of the craft which lined 
the docks. His rebuff at the shipping agency 
the day before was still fresh in his mind. He 
saw the Red Arrow, the vessel in whose crew 
the agent had told him there were vacancies. 


42 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


She was an iron screw steamer, of something 
over a thousand tons burden. All her hatches 
but one were battened down, for her cargo 
was mostly aboard. 

Crane hung about and gazed at the vessel 
longingly. The crew were hurrying to and 
fro upon the deck, officers were shouting 
orders, trucks were rumbling. Evidently the 
Red Arrow carried some passengers, for her 
cabin seemed of good size and Crane saw 
several go aboard with their baggage. 

“Where does she go?” he asked of a dock 
hand. 

“Buenos Aires.” 

Crane grew interested. “Who owns her?” 
he continued. 

“Martell & Burke.” 

“And she goes to South America,” he 
thought. “Is she the ship Burke spoke to me 
about? And that Orrin Pawlin — I wonder 
if he is aboard. I wonder, too, what deyilish 
plot those two have hatched between them. 
I don’t believe I’d care to sail on the Red 
Arrow after all.” 

A little later he noticed a young man com- 
ing briskly down the dock toward the steamer. 


THE RED ARROW 


43 


Crane shrank behind a pile of boxes and 
watched him intently. It was Grandon Burke, 
the son of the junior partner of the shipping 
firm. 

Don hurried aboard and was gone some 
time. When he came ashore again, a tall, 
stern-faced man, dressed in blue pilot-cloth, 
was with him. Crane had learned that there 
was little danger of his being recognized by 
those who had known him in the old days; 
so he did not leave his position by the boxes. 
Don and his companion passed within arm’s 
reach. 

‘‘Of course. Captain Grayves, we want to 
make the cabin and those staterooms as com- 
fortable as possible for Miss Martell and her 
aunt,” he heard the former say. “It will be 
quite a long voyage.” 

“Yes. But we’ll do what we can to make 
it pleasant for Miss Martell. When will the 
ladies come aboard?” queried the captain. 

“In the morning.” 

“We shall get away on the early tide. 
They’ll have to be aboard by seven.” 

The two passed out of hearing, leaving 
Crane with a sudden pang of fear at his heart. 


44 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

Were Jessie Martell and her aunt to sail on 
the Red Arrow? Was it possible that Simon 
Burke was plotting to wreck the steamer with 
such precious freight aboard? What did it 
mean? Why should the junior partner of the 
shipping firm seek to injure one of their own 
vessels? And why should he do so when his 
partner’s daughter and sister were to be 
aboard? It seemed preposterous, and yet 
Crane could not drive the suspicion from 
his mind. 

He looked to see if the man Pawlin was on 
the steamer ; but he could not get near enough 
to see the faces of all the officers and men 
upon her decks. The conspiracy Simon 
Burke had hinted at was no longer a matter 
in which he had no interest. It had suddenly 
become of vital importance. Jessie Martell, 
with whom he had played as a child and 
whom he learned to admire and love intensely 
as she grew into womanhood, was to saiLupon 
that steamer — the very craft against whose 
safety he believed Burke to be plotting. He 
could no longer look upon the affair as some- 
thing which did not concern him. He was 
aroused from his apathy at last. 


THE RED ARROW 


45 


Yet what could he do? Who would believe 
his tale if he related it? Who would place 
confidence in the story of a man who had been 
released from prison only the day before? 
And especially as the man whom his story 
would hurt was one who had helped send him 
to prison? His report would be looked on 
with suspicion. 

Still, there was a bare possibility that, if 
he told what he knew, Burke might be fright- 
ened out of his plan. Then the idea of Simon 
Burke being frightened out of any villainy 
he had once set his mind upon, appealed to 
Wilbur Crane as being so preposterous that 
he laughed bitterly. Burke had known his 
own power when he so frankly tempted his 
former employee. He knew that it was abso- 
lutely beyond Crane to injure him. 

“No matter,” thought the latter, finally 
hurrying away from the dock. “Mr. Martell 
shall listen to me. I’ll put him on his guard.” 

He went back by the subway and quickly 
reached the office of the shipping firm. His 
pace slowed down, however, as he approached 
the building. Suppose any of his former 
associates should recognize him? 


46 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

It was some time after noon now. Business 
in the office would be at its height. He en- 
tered the well-remembered door with hesi- 
tating step. 

“Is Mr. Martell in?” he asked of the clerk 
nearest the door. 

The man scarcely glanced at him. “He’s 
not here,” he said. 

“Will he be back to-day?” inquired Crane, 
faintly. 

“No. He’s gone home.” 

Crane quickly closed the door behind him. 
He knew well where Mr. Martell lived. It 
had been almost like home to him when he 
was a boy, growing up. He took a street car 
and rode nearly to the place. It was a square 
built, solid-looking house, with a large lawn 
and rose-garden between it and the street. 
The windows were closely shuttered, and 
there was an air of desertion about the place. 

An old man was at work among the plants 
near the gateway. Crane recognized the gar- 
dener, but the man did not know him. 

“Is Mr. Martell at home?” he asked. 

“No, sir; he’s not.” 

“But they told me at the office I would find 
him here.” 


THE RED ARROW 


47 


‘That may be, sir. He’s been back from 
town ; but he was called away by the illness of 
a relative, and it’s not known when he will re- 
turn.” 

Crane was staggered. “It’s fate,” he 
thought. “I can do nothing! If I wait to 
see him and he will not believe me, I shall 
have lost just so much time. If Jessie goes 
aboard the Red Arrow in spite of anything I 
can tell her father, and I am here in Bos- 


Slowly a desperate plan had been forming 
in his mind. It had been suggested by the 
thought he had had that morning of stowing 
himself away in the steamer’s hold. He 
would do this, and if Burke was planning to 
sink the steamer he would be on hand to watch 
over Jessie. If he waited to see her father, all 
the Red Arrow's hatches might be closed and 
his chance lost. 

“I reckon you wanted to see him bad, young 
man?” suggested the gardener, searching his 
face curiously. 

“Yes, I did,” returned Crane, with almost a 
groan. “See here!” he exclaimed, turning to 
the old man suddenly. “Is his sister, Mrs. 
Buchanan, in?” 


48 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

“No. She’s gone downtown. You see, she 
and the young Miss sails very early to-mor- 
row morning for foreign parts. They’re all 
right busy. Maybe Miss Jessie would do, if 
it’s anything special. I believe she’s at home.” 

Crane turned quickly. “No, she wouldn’t 
do,” he said, in a muffled voice, and without 
another word walked away. 

He had scarcely gone a dozen yards when 
there was a swish of skirts and a young wom- 
an, with a book in her hand, appeared. Jes- 
sie Martell was a tall, well-proportioned girl, 
with plenty of color and with the free stride 
of a graceful woman. There was not much 
of the invalid in her appearance, the opinion 
of all the physicians in Boston to the contrary 
notwithstanding. The coils of hair upon her 
head were brown and glossy, and the eyes 
matched the hair in shade. They were kind 
eyes, yet with a glint of fire in them which 
might flash forth upon provocation. 

“I heard voices, Maxwell. Who was 
here?” she asked, looking about as though ex- 
pecting to see the owner of the voice which 
had aroused her. There was a puzzled 
wrinkle between her arching brows. 


THE RED ARROW 


49 


was a man — a rough looking man — ^who 
asked to see your father. There he goes 
yonder.” 

Miss Martell stepped quickly to the gate 
and gazed after the retreating figure. A flush 
mounted into her cheek and her breath came 
more quickly. She leaned across the low rail- 
ing and stared after Crane until he was lost 
to view around a bend in the road. And there 
were tears in her eyes — tears called up by the 
memory of one whom she had once known. 

‘‘The voice was so like!” she murmured, at 
last turning away. “Poor Will! Poor boy! 
And it is almost five years now. I am glad we 
are going away to-morrow. I could never 
have seen him when — when he came out.” 

She wiped the tears away hastily and went 
back to the settee in the shrubbery. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE STOWAWAY 

When Wilbur Crane reached the center of 
the city again it was nearly six o’clock. He 
had had no dinner; he felt as though he 
wanted none. But having determined upon 
his course of action, he went about preparing 
with a deal of wisdom for his incarceration 
in the hold of the steamer. 

Though he was not hungry, he first of all 
forced himself to eat a hearty meal. Then he 
purchased several pounds of hard bread, two 
cans of pressed beef, bought and filled a large 
flask with water and another smaller one with 
spirits. These, with a dozen lemons, he 
packed carefully in a pasteboard box. He 
then obtained another box, and had it done 
up into a second neat package, and plainly 
marked on its wrapper: “Mr. Orrin Pawlin, 
Str. Red Arrow!^ 

Having bought his provisions he went to a 
gun store and expended most of his remaining 


THE STOWAWAY 


51 


money for an automatic 45 calibre pistol and 
a box of cartridges. These, with several 
boxes of parlor matches, two wax candles and 
a tiny electric torch, he stowed away in his 
pocket. Then he hurried back to East Bos- 
ton. 

It was late, but he had risked finding the 
hatchway of the Red Arrow closed, rather 
than get into her hold unprepared for emer- 
gencies. 

The sun had set, and it was growing dusky 
about the wharves when Crane arrived at the 
steamer’s dock. The crew were below at sup- 
per. All the remaining cargo which had been 
stacked upon the wharf that afternoon had 
disappeared and he halted in doubt. In a 
moment, however, he saw that it had only 
been run aboard. It was not yet below deck, 
so he marched boldly up the gangplank. 

^‘Hould on, there!” exclaimed a voice. 
“What are yez after?” 

The burly figure of the watchman stepped 
out from behind a bale of goods and con- 
fronted him. But Crane was prepared for 
this. 

“I want to see Mr. Pawlin,” he said. 


52 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


‘‘Mister Pawlin, is it? An’ who th’ blazes 
is he?” 

“He’s an officer on board the steamer,” de- 
clared Crane, confidently. 

“Not that I know of.” 

“This is the Red Arrow, isn’t it?” de- 
manded Crane, with well assumed surprise. 

“It is that.” 

“Then I’m all right,” and the visitor pushed 
by the watchman. “He must be aboard.” 

“Hould on!” cried the latter. “Oi’m not 
supposed to let anybody aboard here. All 
hands is at supper.” 

“Well, can’t I go to the cabin and see Paw- 
lin?” demanded Crane. “See here! I’ve got 
a package for him.” He showed the Irish- 
man the box with the address. The fellow 
held his lantern so that its light fell upon the 
writing, as he slowly spelled it out. 

“Is there an answer maybe?” he suggested. 

“No-o. But I want to be sure Mr. Pawlin 
gets it.” 

“Give it to me,” said the watchman. “Oi’ll 
take it below mesilf. Don’t yez fear — he’ll 
get it.” 

“All right,” responded Crane, appearing 


THE STOWAWAY 53 

to be much relieved. “You’ll take it right 
along?” 

“Oi’ll go down at wance,” declared the 
man. 

Crane placed the empty box in his hand and 
turned as though to depart. The watchman 
went aft toward the cabin companionway. 
The instant he was out of sight Crane darted 
back across the gangplank, reached the 
heaped-up boxes and bales, and found the 
hatch wide open. He stooped and felt the 
first rung of a narrow iron ladder lowered 
into the blackness of the hold. He whipped 
down this at once, reached the bottom, and 
stood there trembling, fearful that, with all 
his precaution, he had been observed. 

But not a sound came from the deck. He 
carefully flashed on the electric lamp. If 
any one should come suddenly to the break 
of the hatchway and see this light he would 
be lost! But he had to take that risk. It was 
absolutely necessary that he should see how 
the cargo had been stowed so that he might 
select a safe hiding place before the rest of the 
goods was lowered. 

The Red Arrow was not a new vessel, but it 


54 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


had been built at a sufficiently recent date for 
its constructors to put in longitudinal bulk- 
heads, which not only stiffen a craft like this, 
but make it a deal safer in case of a leak. 
Crane found himself in one of these com- 
partments made by the longitudinal and trans- 
verse bulkheads. Above him was the hatch- 
well, down which he had just descended. The 
timbers of the lower deck were within reach 
of his hands as he stood upon the cargo. The 
space for further freight was limited. 

Boxes, bales and packages of all sizes and 
shapes were piled about him, each wedged so 
tightly that there was little danger of the 
cargo shifting. The stowaway climbed care- 
fully over the freight and scrutinized each 
corner. Finally, he set upon one certain spot 
as offering him the safest place to hide. Two 
huge packing boxes stood side by side, and 
between them was a box some two feet lower. 
Another huge case — a piano box — had been 
placed on top of these, wedged tightly be- 
tween them and the deck above. Therefore, 
a roomy space had been left for a man’s body 
under the piano box and between the two 
larger cases. There was no danger of any 


THE STOWAWAY 


55 


weighty package being dropped on top of 
him when the sailors came to lower down the 
remainder of the cargo. Into this place he 
crept. 

He had plenty of room. He had not been 
used to luxurious beds of late, and the pine 
box was not half bad. He removed his coat 
and rolled it up for a pillow, and, having lost 
his rest the night before, was quickly asleep. 

He was aroused about daybreak by a great 
shouting and confusion overhead. He awoke 
with a full remembrance of his situation, 
and peered carefully out of his nest. There 
were several men in the hold with lanterns; 
the remainder of the cargo was coming down. 

Crane lay as quietly as possible while they 
stowed the stuff away. After a time a couple 
of the hands placed a great case before the 
opening of his hiding place. It practically 
shut him in. He could do nothing but keep 
silence and listen while they heaped case upon 
case until quite a barrier had been built in 
front of him. 

Finally the cargo was all stowed. The lan- 
tern light flickered more faintly and went out 
entirely as the men went up the well. Then 


56 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


Crane heard the rattle of the iron hatch as it 
slid into place and the squeak of the bolts as 
they were screwed down. 

The footsteps on the deck above sounded 
far, far away. The bustle of getting the craft 
under way reached his ears but faintly. He 
was entombed in this place — possibly beyond 
the reach of human aid. 

Yet he felt a strange exultation. He was 
at last rid of that accursed city in which he 
had felt himself an outcast. In a few hours he 
would be at sea, and there would be little 
possibility of his being sent back. He would 
be freel 


CHAPTER V 

ENTOMBED 

Having deliberately chosen to risk entomb- 
ment in the Red Arrow^s hold, Wilbur Crane 
would not allow any fears regarding his ulti- 
mate escape to control his mind. While the 
steamship’s moorings were being cast off and 
she was towed out into the harbor, he lit a 
candle and set about preparing a frugal 
breakfast from his supplies. 

With his heavy jacknife he opened one of 
the tins of meat. A slice of this, with a couple 
of ship’s biscuit, washed down by a swallow 
or two of water, was all he allowed himself. 
He was particularly careful of the water. He 
had less than three quarts, and three quarts of 
water for a man shut into a stifling hold is a 
very short supply. 

“But it has got to do,” was what he told 
himself a number of times. “Come what may, 
it has got to do.” 

Now that the hatch was closed, the heat be- 
57 


58 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


came oppressive. He was soon obliged to 
strip off his vest and outer shirt. Then he 
made an examination of his surroundings, 
looking toward escape from his present close 
quarters. 

But this was no easy thing to do. The boxes 
recently piled in front of his retreat were 
wedged so tightly that he could not move 
them a hair’s breadth. The lower box 
covered the entrance to his place of conceal- 
ment, except for a narrow space, perhaps 
four inches wide, at one side. By no possi- 
bility could he worm himself through such 
an opening. 

He examined the partitions of his narrow 
quarters. The cases on either side were built 
of heavy planks, strengthened by iron hoops. 
The box above, as before stated, was a piano 
case; the floor of his chamber was another 
heavy box, but it did not quite reach the bulk- 
head in the rear, a space being left behind it 
nearly a foot in width. 

The space in which he could move about 
was, therefore, about eight feet long, nearly 
four broad, and two high. Such a large 
empty space did not speak well for the officer 


ENTOMBED 


S9 


who had in charge the storing of this portion 
of the hold; but Crane was not disposed to 
quarrel with him about it. 

“It strikes me that I am very cozily situ- 
ated, indeed,” he thought, having thoroughly 
scrutinized his surroundings. “It’s quite like 
a South End hall bedroom — almost as much 
floor space. Only I should like to stand up 
occasionally.” 

He knew that his voice could not be heard 
on deck. He looked over his stores and care- 
fully computed the number of days the food 
could be made to last. He believed he 
would be without a crumb to eat in a fort- 
night. The water would give out in much less 
time; but he placed much confidence in the 
lemons. 

Despite the fact that his situation was so 
serious, he made no immediate move to im- 
prove it, nor did he try to communicate with 
the deck. The steamer was too near land. He 
did not wish to create a disturbance until she 
was some days at sea. 

Before long the rolling of the vessel assured 
him that the Red Arrow was well outside the 
harbor and that a heavy swell was on. Con- 


60 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


fined as he was in the close hold, he soon felt 
the effects of the motion. But he lay as still 
as possible, flat on his back, and sucked a 
lemon, and through this the sudden qualmish- 
ness passed. The air in the hold seemed at 
first unbearable; but his lungs at length be- 
came used to it and he suffered less. How- 
ever, that first day’s experience in the hold 
of the steamer, which plunged with a strange, 
jerky motion through the heavy waves, was 
ever afterward a most unpleasant memory to 
Wilbur Crane. 

The Red Arrow encountered stormy 
weather from the first; but by the second 
morning Crane’s qualmishness had disap- 
peared. He was able to eat a little, and 
quenched his thirst with some of the water 
in which he placed a few drops of spirits. He 
was careful to wind his watch. Knowing it 
to be an excellent timepiece, he would be able 
to keep tolerable run of the days and nights of 
his incarceration. 

For two days he lay in his retreat without 
making any trial for liberty. Nevertheless, 
his brain was active. The third night he be- 
gan to cut into the sheathing of the case which 


ENTOMBED 


61 


had been placed before the entrance. His 
knife was stout and the blade sharp ; the box 
was of soft pine. Before morning he had cut 
through two of the boards, and by main 
strength tore them from their fastenings. 

The gleams from his electric flashlight 
showed the contents to be boxes of tinned food 
— the succulent pork and beans of his native 
city. 

He did not open any of the cans. He well 
knew the penalty which he might suffer if he 
did so. It is a serious offense to break open 
freight packages while in transit. He had 
done enough as it was. 

Carefully removing the cans from the box, 
he crawled in and kicked off a board on the 
other side. There was an open space there; 
the weight piled on top of the case of canned 
goods was what had made it impossible for 
him to move it. He was at last free in the 
hold — or in this portion of it. The sliding 
doors in the bulkheads were tightly closed, so 
he could not go from one compartment to 
another. 

The air in the place was becoming vile; 
it would have been worse had there not been 


62 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


a narrow ventilating shutter in one of the 
cabin bulkheads. 

The storm which had met the steamship as 
she came out of port had passed, and she now 
cut through the water with only a pleasant 
little roll. The sickness which Crane had at 
first experienced had left him. He was very 
comfortable, but he could not remain there 
during the entire voyage. There was some 
doubt as to how he might be received when 
he did make his appearance on deck, and he 
wanted the uncertainty over as soon as pos- 
sible. 

He knew that his offense was one punish- 
able by law, but that ship captains seldom 
evoked the law’s aid in dealing with a stow- 
away. The captain was more likely to turn 
him to with the crew and “haze” him the re- 
mainder of the voyage. Or, if it came handy, 
he might return him to the home port by the 
first inward-bound vessel spoken, feeling 
sure that that would be the severest punish- 
ment for the stowaway. Crane did not want 
to be sent back ; so he waited another day that 
the Red Arrow might be farther out and less 
likely to speak Boston-bound ships. 


ENTOMBED 


63 


The next forenoon he climbed the ladder 
to the hatch and beat a tattoo on the slide. He 
could hear footsteps above and an occasional 
command, but nobody appeared to notice his 
knocking. Therefore, he rapped again, this 
time more loudly, and waited anxiously for 
the response. 


CHAPTER VI 

THE RED ARROW AT SEA 

The sea was smooth, and the Red Arrow 
cut through the swells at a lively pace. The 
stamping of the engines amidships jarred the 
ship from stem to stern. Evidently the com- 
mander was making time while the weather 
was so favorable. 

Crane knocked again and again on the 
hatch, but it was some time before one of the 
officers, passing near the spot, heard him. 

‘What the dickens is that?” he exclaimed, 
stopping to listen. The knocking continued. 
“A stowaway, by George!” he added, and 
then uttered a very forcible opinion of stow- 
aways in general and this one in particular. 
Stowaways are seldom greeted hospitably 
aboard a steamship. 

The officer went quickly aft and reported 
his discovery to Captain Grayves who was 
standing at the break of the quarter. He was 
talking with one of the passengers when his 
subordinate made his appearance. 

64 


THE RED ARROW AT SEA 65 

‘‘Well, Mr. Sickles, what is it?” he asked, 
shortly. 

“I have to report, sir, that there is a stow- 
away in the hold.” 

“What!” Captain Grayves’ face grew scar- 
let. He was a choleric man under sudden 
provocation and having seen service in the 
navy his discipline aboard ship was more than 
ordinarily severe. 

“A stowaway!” he roared. “How the 
deuce did he get there?” 

“I don’t know, sir,” responded Mr. Sickles 
meekly. “I haven’t asked him.” 

“Why not? What’s the matter with you, 
sir?” 

“Well, he’s still below. I heard him 
pounding on one of the forward hatches. I 
could not take the responsibility of opening 
the hatch without orders from you, sir.” 

“Huh, quite right,” grunted the captain. 
“Well, let’s have the scoundrel out. Bring 
him aft here when you release him.” 

“Aye, aye, sir!” returned Sickles, and 
turned back to the hatch with a grin on his 
sunburned face. Calling two sailors to his 
aid, he ordered the slide unscrewed. Crane 
immediately ceased knocking. 


66 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


The hatch was slowly slid back, and, amid 
profound silence on the part of the group of 
sailors gathered about, the stowaway crawled 
out. The men grinned and nudged each 
other, but nobody spoke. Crane looked about 
in apprehension. 

“You come along aft with me,” said Sickles 
grimly. “Go down, Johnson, and see what 
damage he’s done and report to me. Come 
on, you!” 

Crane followed the officer slowly along the 
deck. Several curious passengers had col- 
lected near the quarter, having heard of the 
affair. Crane glanced furtively out of his 
lowered eyes from one to another. He was 
about to congratulate himself that neither Jes- 
sie Martell nor her aunt was among them, 
when he saw a group appearing from the 
after cabin, in the midst of which he caught 
sight of the girl he most feared, yet longed, to 
see. 

She was trimly gowned. Her brown hair 
was blown about her face in pretty confusion. 
With her was a fleshy, satisfied looking wom- 
an dressed in black, whom Crane recognized 
as the aunt. And by her side, with one hand 


THE RED ARROW AT SEA 61 

resting familiarly upon Jessie’s arm, was one 
whose presence caused the stowaway unquali- 
fied amazement. It was Grandon Burke. 

He forgot the stern-visaged captain stand- 
ing on the quarter. He lost sight of the fact 
that he was very likely to receive a most un- 
pleasant welcome to the deck of the Red Ar- 
row. His brain was stunned by the shock of 
finding Don Burke here. What did it mean? 
If the elder Burke contemplated scuttling the 
Red Arrow, why had he allowed his son to be 
a passenger upon her? Had Crane made a 
mistake? Was it another craft on which the 
man Pawlin was to work Burke’s purpose? 

While these thoughts were rioting through 
his mind he marched steadily on behind the 
officer. They reached the quarter. The 
commander bent a pair of searching eyes 
upon him. At that instant there was a sud- 
den commotion farther aft. A woman’s 
shriek startled every person on deck. Cap- 
tain Grayves wheeled to look while Sickles 
ran aft. 

Startled into sudden activity, Crane fol- 
lowed the officer and the crowd. For the mo- 
ment he was forgotten by all. 


68 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


A woman was hanging over the port rail, 
screaming and reaching out her arms to an 
object bobbing up and down in the steamer’s 
wake. It was a child’s head. 

^‘It’s her boy!” cried Sickles. “He’s only 
ten, poor little chap! Stand out of the way, 
everybody, and let us lower a boat.” 

Captain Grayves had already shouted down 
the tube for the engineer to stop. Several 
sailors came running at the sound of Sickles’ 
whistle, and a motorboat swinging at the 
davits was lowered. Precious moments had 
been lost while these preparations were being 
made. Already the boy was a long way 
astern. 

To add to the delay, the tackle of the boat 
fouled. Half a dozen clumsy-fingered fel- 
lows fumbled at it. 

Crane had run farther aft. The sleek black 
head of the child was yards astern, and the 
steamer was still bearing on. 

He glanced back and saw the difficulty at 
the boat. Kicking off his shoes, he sprang 
upon the rail and made a slanting dive into 
the sea. He had been a famous swimmer 
before his incarceration in the penitentiary; 


THE RED ARROW AT SEA 69 

a plunge into water as smooth as this was a 
small matter to him. 

He came up a long way astern and struck 
out for the boy the instant he had shaken the 
water from his eyes. By rising breast-high on 
the fitful little waves he could see the child. 
He was still struggling somewhat feebly on 
the surface. 

Hampered though he was by his clothing, 
Crane cut through the water like a shark. 
Before the boat had cleared from the side of 
the now almost stationary steamship he had 
reached the victim of the accident. They 
were nearly a quarter of a mile from the Red 
Arrow and the little fellow, who had pluckily 
kept up by paddling, was now completely ex- 
hausted. He could not even cling to his 
rescuer. Crane was obliged to bear him up 
on one arm while he swam with the other. 

The Red Arrow's motorboat was dashing 
through the choppy waves toward them. 
Crane, after his confinement in the hold, felt 
that he was less able than formerly to per- 
form such a task as this. He set his teeth hard 
and gripped the child. But by the time the boat 
reached them he was swimming very feebly. 


70 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


The man in the bow lifted the boy in, and 
Sickles himself helped Crane over the gun- 
wale. But Crane’s face struck the boat before 
he was hauled up. 

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed the officer, “I 
never expected to be so glad to see a stowaway. 
But I must say Fm happy you showed up as 
you did. Is the boy all right, Johnson?” 

“Aye, aye, sir; he’s a bit winded, but that’s 
all.” 

“All right. Thank God we’ve got the boy. 
I’d have hated to go back and face that 
woman without him. By the way,” he said 
to Crane. “You’re pretty well blown your- 
self, and you’ve cut your face.” 

“Yes! I haven’t swum — for some time,” re- 
turned the stowaway, between gasps. 

“What the dickens possessed you to get into 
that hold?” asked Sickles with pardonable 
curiosity. 

“I didn’t have money to pay my passage.” 

“H — m. Well, mebbe the captain won’t 
be so hard on you now. But he’s a bit of a 
taskmaster, believe me! He’s not fond of 
stowaways.” 

“I didn’t suppose I’d be welcomed with a 

brass band.” 


THE RED ARROW AT SEA 71 

‘‘You won’t be disappointed, then,” the 
other said, grinning. 

They were quickly back on the ship. The 
boy’s mother, who was a hysterical creature, 
fell upon her rescued son with incoherent sobs 
and laughter, and might have turned her at- 
tention next to the rescuer had not some of the 
other passengers hurried her into the cabin. 
Crane stood stolidly by while the boat was 
hoisted to the davits, wiping the blood from 
the cuts on his face. 

“Bring that man here,” commanded Cap- 
tain Grayves, when the excitement was at an 
end. 

The stowaway, wet and blood-stained, stood 
before him. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Carter, sir.” 

“Well, Carter, you’re a fool!” exclaimed 
the captain testily. “You deserve to be hazed 
well for sneaking into that hold. But I sup- 
pose something’s due you for what you’ve just 
done. Mr. Sickles, see that he gets a change 
of clothing and then send him into the stoke- 
hole. Make him work his passage. There’ll 
be no idlers aboard my ship.” 


72 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


He turned on his heel and strode away. His 
subordinate lost no time in leading the stow- 
away forward. 

“I tell you what, Carter,” said he. “You 
got out of it blamed easy. You can congratu- 
late yourself on that.” 


CHAPTER VII 

IN THE STOKE-HOLE 

After Wilbur Crane had served his first 
watch in the fire-room of the steamship, he 
wondered what punishment could possibly 
have been meted out to him that would have 
been worse than that. Stripped to a thin cot- 
ton shirt and trousers, supplied him by the 
ship’s purser, he shoveled coal into the raven- 
ous maws of the furnaces. The men about 
him, grimy and silent, looked like fiends from 
the pit. For four awful hours he toiled under 
the stern eye of the officer, who stood upon the 
engine-room stairs that he might oversee the 
stokers. Then he went to his berth, rolled up 
in a blanket, and slept the sleep of utter ex- 
haustion for the four consecutive hours of his 
watch below. 

During the first few days he did not go 
upon deck at all. Gradually he became hard- 
ened to the fearful toil. The heat affected his 
lungs less. He was guiltless of brows and 

73 


74 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

eye-lashes, of course, and after the first day 
was obliged to go to the ship’s barber to have 
such of his beard removed as had not been 
scorched off by the blasts of heat from the 
open furnace doors. 

But he did not fear recognition by the three 
people on board the Red Arrow who knew 
his true name. None of them would have 
suspected the identity of Wilbur Crane in the 
grimed and blistered stoker. Carter, with 
those cuts on his face. 

After a time, when he had become more 
used to the work, he ventured on deck. He 
made few acquaintances among his associates. 
Mr. Sickles spoke to him kindly whenever he 
saw him. The young officer recognized in 
him a man who was naturally above his pres- 
ent position. Crane, or Carter, as he was 
called, was soon convinced that Pawlin and 
the fellow with whom he had seen him con- 
versing in the North Square hotel were not 
aboard the Red Arrow, 

He had had his pains for nothing. His 
suspicions of Simon Burke’s evil intentions 
regarding this steamship were unfounded. 
The ship the merchant had spoken of h^d 


IN THE STOKE-HOLE 


75 


been some other, and Crane was taking this 
long voyage into the tropics without reason. 

But it was little he cared. Despite the toil 
to which he was subjected, he was too glad to 
have left Boston behind him to quarrel with 
fate. Once at Buenos Aires, to which port 
the Red Arrow was bound, he determined to 
leave her and seek a livelihood in that new 
country. 

He was only sorry that he had stowed him- 
self away on the vessel which bore Jessie Mar- 
tell and her party. Her presence was a con- 
tinual source of agony to him. To see her 
walking the deck with Don Burke and ap- 
parently enjoying the fellow’s company so 
much, was gall and wormwood to Crane. The 
latter tried to time his own visits to the deck 
so that he should not see them together. 

Before the Red Arrow had been to sea a 
week she met another gale, and the few pas- 
sengers (there were only about a dozen in the 
cabin) were forced to keep below most of 
the time. The storm was a protracted one. 
The steamship was sadly wrenched and 
jarred, as she staggered on hour after hour in 
the teeth of the tempest. To add to the dan- 


76 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

ger of her situation, she sprang a small leak, 
and the clank of the pumps was added to the 
thumping of the engines day and night. 

The leak was not supposed to be serious, 
although the stokers, far down in the hold 
of the great craft, went about their work with 
gloomier faces than ever, and were on the 
verge of mutiny. Crane could scarcely blame 
them, though he endeavored to set them a 
good example by obeying every order with 
more than usual promptness. They were the 
farthest from the boats, if anything serious 
happened. The jarring and straining of the 
steamer was continually in their ears. 

At first, however, the Red Arrow met the 
gale bravely. As long as she responded to her 
helm she could ride the big waves and escape 
the worst of them. But, pump as they might, 
the water in the well steadily gained. She 
began to sink by the head — not much, but 
just enough to keep her from rising freely to 
the rollers which swept down upon her. The 
officers began to wear anxious faces. The 
man on the engine-room stairs carried a re- 
volver tucked into his belt in plain sight and 
watched the stokers more closely than ever. 


IN THE STOKE-HOLE 


77 


The passengers were obliged, for the most 
part, to keep in their cabins, but several times 
Crane saw Jessie pacing the deck. She was 
a splendidly athletic looking girl, and if her 
lungs were weak, this bracing sea air was the 
best possible tonic for them. Don Burke was 
not always with her, and when he was, he sel- 
dom looked at ease. Evidently the stormy 
weather had no attractions for him ; he could 
not ^Vorship the sea in its might.” 

The Red Arrow seemed to pass out of one 
belt of storm only to meet another gale. She 
was a long distance from her home port now 
— nearly fifteen hundred miles. Captain 
Gra5rves was tempted to put his steamer on 
another course and try to run into pleasant 
weather. But while he hesitated, the steam- 
ship, now leaking badly, met with a startling 
accident. 

It was during the forenoon watch, and 
Crane was on deck for a breath of air, stand- 
ing near the engine-room companion. He 
saw Jessie Martell breasting the gale across 
the staggering deck, coming slowly forward. 
Burke was with her, steadying her steps with 
one hand while he clung to a guard-rope with 
the other. 


78 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


The ship, which had been plunging her 
nose heavily into the seas, yet riding them well 
enough to keep the water from flooding the 
decks, suddenly halted and staggered as 
though she had hit a submerged obstacle. She 
swung half around in the trough between two 
great billows and then swung back again with 
a jerking, uncertain motion. There was a 
sharp cry from the wheelhouse. 

The watch officer ran to the rail of the 
bridge and shouted through his megaphone 
to the petty officer in the wheelhouse. The 
answer came eerily, shrilling across the 
spume-lashed deck. 

^^Rudder chain’s parted, sir! Pull her 
down!” 

Instantly there was a confusion of cries 
from officers and the watch on deck. Captain 
Grayves leaped upon the bridge, trumpet in 
hand, and shouted order after order, while 
the steamer swung in that awful hollow be- 
tween the waves. A gigantic green roller 
raised its crest high above her stern, and when 
it broke, tons upon tons of water crashed upon 
the staggering ship. 

The wave swept forward, smashing the 


IN THE STOKE-HOLE 


79 


ship’s upperworks and tossing more than one 
of the crew against the bulwarks. Crane, 
clinging to the line by the engine-room, saw 
men go down like tenpins before the flood. 
His face blanched with fear. Jessie Martell 
and her escort were in its path. 

He tried to shout to them; but his tongue 
clove to the roof of his mouth. He could 
only look on, transfixed with the horror at the 
catastrophe. 

In a moment the green roller was upon 
them. It overwhelmed them; but if Don 
Burke should cling manfully to the rope they 
would be saved. 

To Crane’s horror, when the water crashed 
down upon the couple and swept them ofif 
their feet, Burke let go of the girl with a wild 
shriek of terror — audible even in that tumult 
of the elements — and seized the life-line with 
both hands. 

Jessie was borne away along the deck in 
company with splintered woodwork and such 
loose articles of deck furniture as the sea had 
wrenched away. 

Crane uttered a shout and leaped from his 
own place of refuge. He saw the girl whirled 


80 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


over and over in the advancing wave and, as 
the water seethed around him, seized her in 
his arms. Though the wave had somewhat 
spent its force, he, too, was swept off his feet, 
and, still clinging to the girl, was borne back- 
ward into the scuppers. 

He fell with stunning force against the bul- 
wark, but his body shielded hers from harm. 
The flood poured on and spurted savagely out 
of the hawse-holes as the Red Arrow rose 
slowly upon another wave. 

Crane, glancing back, saw a second great 
roller about to break over the steamer’s quar- 
ter. She was in a frightful basin, the water 
towering above her as high again as her 
stacks. The wind tore the tops off these 
giant waves and swept the spray across the 
deck in so thick a cloud that he was well-nigh 
blinded. 

Picking up the girl he staggered back 
toward the engine-room. At the door he 
almost stumbled over a man. He pushed him 
down the stairs, descended himself, and shut 
the door. The man was Don Burke. 

The sea had sprung the engine-room door 
and a quantity of water had flooded the place 


IN THE STOKE-HOLE 


81 


and found a lower level by the opening into 
the stoke-hole. The officer whose watch it 
was in that place had been swept off his feet, 
and the fire-room was in confusion. 

“She’s sinking! she’s sinking!” a hoarse 
voice yelled from below. 

The maddened stokers left their posts and 
crowded wildly toward the stairway. They 
trampled the fallen officer under foot and 
fought for egress from the pit. 

“If they leave those fires we are lost!” 
shouted the engineer to his assistant. “Drive 
’em back, Tim! For God’s sake, drive ’em 
back!” 

He could not leave his own post. His as- 
sistant looked about helplessly. He was 
almost as badly rattled as the stokers. 

Crane dragged Jessie to a chair which 
was screwed against the bulkhead. She was 
panting, but had lost neither her conscious- 
ness nor her presence of mind. Burke was 
fairly cowering in a corner, too scared to do 
anything. 

The sooty-faced firemen were struggling 
up the ladder, shouting and cursing. The 
assistant engineer placed his back against the 


82 WILBUR CRANE^S HANDICAP 


door; but he was armed only with a bar, while 
the crowd of yelling stokers had shovels and 
heavy fire-rakes in their brawny hands. 

“Out o’ th’ way!” cried the foremost stoker, 
a big, hairy-chested Irishman. “We’re not 
goin’ to be drowned loike rats in a trap 1” He 
ripped out a fearful oath and made for the 
pallid assistant. 

But Crane had not been inactive. He rec- 
ognized the danger if these men stampeded 
from their posts, as well as did the engi- 
neer. Before the first stoker was a yard from 
the ladder he sprang before him. He had 
torn open his coat and thrust his hand into 
the bosom of his shirt. The next instant the 
muzzle of an automatic pistol was thrust into 
the fellow’s face. 

“Drop that shovel!” he cried. “Drop it — 
quick!” The implement fell from the Irish- 
man’s hands. “Go back!” commanded Crane. 
“Every man of you go back!” 

He did not speak loud, but there was the 
ring of authority in his tones which they 
recognized. 

“Man dear! wot iver air yez doin’?” cried 
the Irishman. “We’ll all be drowned dead! 
You’re wan of us.” 


83 


IN THE STOKE-HOLE 

“You’ll not be drowned,” responded Crane. 
“But you’ll be shot if you don’t go back. 
Quick now! Move! Don’t you know the 
safety of the ship and everybody aboard de- 
pends upon you?” 

“The stoke-hole’s a-flood,” growled some- 
body. 

“The fires aren’t out yet, are they?” rejoined 
Crane. “Go back now. I tell you, you will 
be given plenty of time to escape. I’ll stand 
here myself and warn you if there is dan- 
ger.” 

It was more the persuasive influence of 
the pistol than that promise which drove the 
stokers down the ladder. They went slowly 
back to the fires. The officer who had been 
trampled on in the rush was brought up by 
the assistant engineer and a stoker. Crane 
stood at the head of the stairs with the pistol 
in his hand. 

A moment after the excitement was over 
Mr. Sickles rushed into the engine-room. He 
saw Crane standing at the stairs and took in 
the situation at a glance. 

“That’s right. Carter,” he said. “Don’t let 
one of ’em up. Is Bagley hurt? Take him to 
the doctor, Jim. Where’s Miss Martell?” 


84 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


“All safe, sir,” said Crane. 

“Let me take you to the saloon, Miss Mar- 
tell,” said the officer. “The steamer’s righted 
herself now. You had a narrow escape.” 

“I know it, Mr. Sickles,” she replied, ris- 
ing from her seat. “And I have this man to 
thank for my life.” She looked at Crane, 
dirty and scarred, with her big eyes shining 
and a smile trembling about her mouth. She 
held out her hand, and he was forced to take 
it in his soiled and toil-calloused palm. It did 
not look much like the hand of a gentleman ; 
it did not look like the hand of the Wilbur 
Crane, who used to be. 

“Thank you, Mr. Carter,” she said. “I 
shall never forget you.” 

Then she turned and left the engine-room 
with Sickles without a glance at Don Burke, 
who still cowered in the corner, 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE WRECK OF THE RED ARROW 

Wilbur Crane knew well enough that the 
danger was not yet over. In truth, it had but 
begun. Two waves had already swept the 
Red Arrow's deck, and although she was 
under control again, because of the weight of 
the water that came in through the parted 
seams she could not rise as she should to meet 
the rollers. 

The engineer left his post near the tubes 
and came over to the man who had saved the 
situation. 

“See here. Carter — is that what they call 
you?” he said, “it just depends on you to keep 
those fellows down there. Don’t let ’em make 
a break like that again. The steam went down 
like fun while they were fooling here. If we 
don’t keep the steam up we can’t keep head- 
way on her, d’you see?” 

Crane nodded. He stood where he could 
see into the fire-room and where the stokers 
85 


86 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


could see him. Sickles appeared in the en- 
gine-room again after a few moments. He 
saw Don Burke crouching with pallid face 
and shaking hands by the foot of the com- 
panionway. 

“Captain Grayves has ordered all passen- 
gers into the saloon cabin, sir,” he said, 
sharply, and then turned his back upon the 
fellow. Burke slunk away without a word. 

“I could kick him over the rail with good 
stomach,” said Sickles. “The skulking hound 
let the girl go and grabbed the line with both 
hands, when, if he’d only stood firm, he could 
have saved her easily enough. And they say 
he’s engaged to her, too!” 

“Such a time as this brings out all the man 
there is in a fellow,” said the engineer briefly. 
“What does it look like outside. Sickles?” 

“Looks bad,” returned the officer gloomily. 

“What does the pole show?” 

Sickles looked from the engineer and his as- 
sistant to Crane. “I’ll tell you fellows,” he 
said, in a low tone, “that unless the gale holds 
off mighty quick, Martell & Burke will be 
losing a steamship, and that’s a fact.” 

“Is it as bad as that?” gasped Jim. 


THE WRECK OF THE RED ARROW 87 


“It is. The water’s gaining rapidly in the 
forward compartment. There are plates 
sprung in more than one place. The old Red 
Arrow is on her last voyage, I reckon.” 

“My God!” Jim groaned. 

Crane was as white as chalk. He was 
thinking of the danger menacing the passen- 
gers — one in particular. 

“Keep up your courage, Jim,” said the en- 
gineer. ^‘You’ll take things cooler when 
you’ve seen as much as me. How long’s she 
liable to last. Sickles?” 

“All depends upon the sea. If we ship 
another such wave as those two, the steamer 
may fill and sink under us. The roof of the 
forward house is started already. I tell you 
fellows this to put you on your guard. But 
for heaven’s sake stick to her as long as the 
pistons work.” 

“We’ll stay, don’t fret,” growled the en- 
gineer. 

Sickles went on deck again; but he had 
scarcely gone when a fearful crash from above 
assured those in the engine-room that some- 
thing of a serious nature had occurred. 
Another crash followed, and the vessel shook 
all over. 


88 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


“One stack’s gone!” shouted the engineer 
above the din. 

At the same moment the door again burst 
in and a torrent of water belched down the 
companionway. Everything was afloat in the 
engine-room in a moment. Crane, who was 
nearest the door, rushed to close it. He 
sprang up the steps and glanced out. The 
steamer lay broadside to in the trough of the 
waves ; the seamen were clinging helplessly to 
the life-lines. The wheelhouse was deserted, 
the bulwarks splintered and crushed in half a 
dozen places. 

He tugged at the door to close it, but it re- 
fused to budge. Then he heard another wave 
break with a thunderous roar. He ran back 
to the stoke-hole ladder. 

“Look alive there, men!” he shouted. 
“Come up now, but don’t rush.” 

There was a rattle of fire-irons as the stokers 
threw them down and started for the ladder. 

“What are you about?” yelled the engi- 
neer. 

The next instant the engine-room was full 
of green water. The engineer himself was 
carried off his feet, while a great torrent 


THE WRECK OF THE RED ARROW 89 


poured down into the stoke-hole. The first 
stoker was swept off the ladder; but the others 
pressed forward through the flood and 
reached the engine-room in safety. A fear- 
ful hissing sounded below and a cloud of 
steam rose through the manhole. 

“The fires are out!” shouted Crane. 
“There’s no use in staying here longer.” He 
followed the stokers to the deck, and the en- 
gineer and his assistant were only a moment 
behind him. 

The deck was a scene of wildest confusion. 
How many of the seamen had been swept 
overboard, or had been injured by the smash- 
ing seas, the survivors could not tell. All was 
turmoil and hideous confusion. The ship’s 
discipline was still maintained among the offi- 
cers and seamen ; but nothing could now con- 
trol the stokers. Led by the huge Irishman, 
they rushed at once to the port davits, where a 
boat was being made ready for the passengers. 
With blows and curses they drove the officer 
and sailors in charge away and leaped into the 
boat. 

“Let ’em go and be damned to them!” 
shouted Captain Grayves, who held his posi- 
tion on the battered bridge. 


90 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


The stokers launched the boat upon an out- 
going wave, which swept them to its summit 
in a flash. For an instant it hung there, tower- 
ing high above the gale-swept steamer, and 
those left behind gazed upward, horrified, 
into the fear-stricken faces of the deserters. 
Then the wave seemed to slip from beneath 
the doomed boat. It fell, broadside to, into 
the hollow, and in a second was crushed 
against the iron plates of the Red Arrow, 
The men were swept away in a moment and 
were seen no more. 

A simultaneous cry of horror burst from 
the lips of passengers and crew. But the cap- 
tain did not allow the awful incident to deter 
his efforts to secure the safety of his charges. 
The other boats were made ready as rapidly 
as possible, yet many a breaker of water and 
package of food intended for the boats was 
torn from the workers’ hands and carried 
overboard. 

At length the three remaining boats were 
ready. Most of the passengers were crowded 
into Mr. Sickles’ boat — the women and chil- 
dren first. Crane watched near by to see that 
no harm befell Jessie and her aunt. The lat- 


THE WRECK OF THE RED ARROW 91 


ter was in a state bordering upon hysterics; 
two brawny sailors picked her up bodily and 
placed her in the boat when Sickles gave the 
word. Some of the men became panic- 
stricken and rushed into the first boat and re- 
fused to give up their places. 

“Let the fools be!” shouted Captain Gray- 
ves, seeing that precious moments were being 
lost. “There are other boats. Get under way, 
Mr. Sickles.” 

Crane did not see how the boat got off. He 
saw the other boats filling and Jessie was still 
on the pitching deck of the steamer. He ran 
to her. Don Burke was not with her. No 
other passenger remained. 

“Come with me, Miss Martell!” he 
shouted. 

He seized her hand and hurried her to the 
nearest boat. It was the captain’s, and already 
overloaded. 

“This will be the last to leave. Carter!” 
cried Captain Grayves. “Take her to the 
purser’s boat.” 

As he spoke the purser’s boat left the steam- 
er’s side. Crane staggered across the slant- 


92 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


ing deck, almost carrying the girl in his arms. 
The engineer hailed him. 

^‘Ho, there, Carter! Give us a lift.” He 
and his assistant were cutting the lashings of a 
small metal lifeboat which had been stowed 
amidships. “Who’s that with you — the stew- 
ardess? Chuck her in here and bear a hand.” 

Crane hesitated. 

“It’s your best chance, man! The other 
boats are overloaded. We’ve got grub and 
water for a dozen.” 

Crane waited no longer, but, placing Jessie 
in the stern, assisted in casting off the fasten- 
ings. They dragged the light craft down 
upon the main deck. Only the captain’s boat 
now remained by the wallowing steamer. The 
engineer sprang into the little lifeboat and 
seized the steering oar. 

“Look out for this next wave, boys!” he 
shouted. 

The liquid mountain curled over the 
steamer and swept down upon them. It 
boiled into the waist of the ship, tossing the 
light boat upon its crest like a bit of flotsam. 
In a second they were staggering up the long, 
foam-streaked slope of the following roller. 


THE WRECK OF THE RED ARROW 93 

For a breath they hung suspended on the 
crest of this — only an instant, yet it seemed an 
eternity! The boat balanced there and they 
knew that if she slid back to the ship’s hull, 
they were lost! If she drifted out there would 
be a chance for their lives. Her stern was 
toward the steamer and hung clear of the 
wave. She almost slipped back. Then came 
a great surge beneath, and the craft was swept 
away from the side of the sinking steamer 
with the speed of an arrow. 

Crane, glancing back from the crest of a 
mountainous wave, saw the upper works of 
the steamer fast breaking up. The roof of the 
forward house had been wrenched loose and 
like a great raft, was launched upon an out- 
going billow. The sinking vessel was all but 
buried in the water, and before he could tell 
if the captain’s boat was clear, they sank into 
another great green valley and the ship was 
lost to sight. That was the last glimpse he 
had of the Red Arrow. 

Crane had the bow oar and Jim the stroke. 
The engineer passed Miss Martell forward 
to the bow to trim ship, and they settled down 
to work. About all they could do was to keep 


94 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


the boat’s head with the sea ; but that was no 
light task. 

“Are you all right, Miss Martell?” Crane 
asked, glancing over his shoulder. She had 
scarcely opened her lips through it all, and 
now her voice was shaken as she replied : 

“I am all right. You are Mr. Carter, are 
you not?” 

“I’m Carter, Miss,” he replied. “There 
isn’t any ‘Mister’ to it. I’m just a stoker.” 
His voice sounded unnatural, even to him- 
self. 

The girl made no response to this for a mo- 
ment. Then she said: “I have to thank you 
again for saving my life.” 

Suddenly the engineer’s voice reached their 
ears from the stern. “What’s that yonder, 
Jim? Can you see?” 

Crane looked as well. Some large object — 
at first he thought it was the hull of another 
wreck — was sweeping past them. 

“It’s the roof of the steamer’s fo’castle,” 
shouted Jim. 

“What! holding together like that?” de- 
manded the engineer. “What d’you say, 
Carter? Let’s make for it.” 


THE WRECK OF THE RED ARROW 95 

“And give up the boat?” 

“Keep the boat, too. I believe I can steer 
her alongside if you fellows will stand ready 
to jump off and hoist her aboard.” 

“Will it be best?” asked Crane, doubtfully. 

“Why not? The raft’s the biggest. We’ll 
still have this cockle-shell to fall back upon 
if it breaks up.” 

“Go ahead!” cried Jim. 

Crane was in the minority and had to yield. 
They pulled carefully to the side of the so- 
called raft, and both he and the assistant en- 
gineer safely obtained a foothold on it. The 
engineer leaped out, too, and in a moment the 
little boat was dragged upon the raft. The 
roof of the Red Arrow's forecastle was quite 
forty feet long and twenty broad, and it did 
seem safer than the little boat. The waves 
did not break over it; it rode the surges like 
a duck. 

The upturned boat made a shelter, and for 
several hours the three men and the girl 
crouched there while the gale howled across 
the tossing sea. The engineer fastened an oar 
upright in a break in the deck and attached 
a bandana handkerchief to it for a signal of 


96 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


distress. Late in the afternoon they were 
startled by a hail : 

‘^Ahoy the raft!” 

Even Jessie responded to the cry. Bearing 
sluggishly down upon them was one of the 
Red Arrow's boats. They saw Mr. Sickles 
in her stern. About a dozen people remained 
with him. 

“Have they been washed overboard?” mut- 
tered Crane. 

“Where is Auntie? I don’t see her,” cried 
Jessie, anxiously. 

The mate’s boat seemed to lie deep in the 
water, and he handled her very carefully. 

“What’s the matter?” shouted the engineer. 
“Can you take us aboard?” 

“We’ve sprung a leak,” replied Sickles. 
“We’ve got to abandon her. Will that house 
bear us?” 

“Yes — bear you and twice as many more,” 
was the cheery response, and the seamen in the 
leaking boat shouted lustily. 

They brought their craft alongside with ex- 
treme care, and, after they had disembarked 
and removed everything of value from her. 
Sickles cast her adrift. 


THE WRECK OF THE RED ARROW 97 


^‘We have been bailing like mad for two 
hours,” he said. ‘‘Before that one of the 
other boats took most of my passengers — all 
the women. WhoVe you got yonder?” 

“Miss Martell,” replied Crane. 

“That so? We feared she was lost. Her 
aunt was pretty near crazy. IVe got three of 
the passengers with me — Mr. Burke and two 
others.” 

Crane had seen Don from board the raft, 
but the fellow did not offer to come near the 
little group by the upturned boat. He kept 
with the crew forward of the signal staff. 

“We’re in a bad box, and that’s a fact,” 
Sickles went on. “But I believe the gale is 
blowing out. If we can hold this house to- 
gether till morning I think we’ll see clear 
weather. Is your boat sound ?” 

“Sound as a dollar,” declared the engineer, 
confidently. 

“Good ! If worst comes to worst we can get 
Miss Martell safely away in it. But keep 
your eyes on the men. If they think we’ve 
some means of escape which they haven’t, 
they may cut up rusty.” 

Silence fell between them after that and 


98 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


the two groups of castaways crouched upon 
the staggering raft while darkness shut down 
upon the face of the waters. 

Crane counted the survivors. Of nearly a 
hundred souls who made up the ship’s com- 
pany of the Red Arrow, less than a score were 
here alive. All the others might, before this, 
have followed the steamer to the bottom of 
the sea. 


CHAPTER IX 


ON THE RAFT 

Crane, mindful of the comfort of the girl, 
made her a bed under the lee of the boat, 
sacrificing his own coat for a pillow. He had 
a struggle to make her accept it, but if she 
possessed a will of her own, he exer- 
cised a dogged perseverance which finally 
triumphed. He himself spent the night bol- 
stered up against the end of the boat and did 
not close his eyes. But most of the other sur- 
vivors slept. 

At daybreak the heavens cleared. The 
wind had subsided to a gentle breeze, and the 
sea was running nowhere near so high as on 
the evening before. But the ocean was de- 
serted. Not a sail was visible. If any of the 
other boats from the Red Arrow was safe, it 
was out of sight of the raft. 

Sickles had taken the precaution to heap 
the supplies unloaded from the leaky boat 
about the small craft at the stern of the raft. 
Being the only officer aboard, he naturally 

99 


100 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


took command. He dealt out a portion of 
the food and some water to every person. 
Then he divided the seamen into watches and 
placed the engineer of the Red Arrow in com- 
mand of one. 

There were ten of the sailors and three pas- 
sengers — a Portuguese named Lopez, who was 
returning to his home near Buenos Aires, an 
Englishman of rather seedy appearance, and 
Don Burke — besides the engineer, his assist- 
ant, Crane, Sickles and Jessie. Sickles added 
the passengers to the watches, taking Jim and 
Burke into his own and placing the other two 
passengers in the engineer’s. That left Crane 
as the odd man. 

^‘Have you still got that gun. Carter?” 
Sickles asked of the latter. 

The young man replied affirmatively. 

^Ts it all right?” 

‘‘I cleaned it last night. IVe ammunition, 
too.” 

“Then, Carter, I’m going to place you on 
guard over the supplies and this boat. No- 
body is to have a crumb of food or a mouthful 
of water unless I tell you — do you under- 
stand?” 


ON THE RAFT 


101 


“Yes, sir.” 

“You are to shoot first. Will you?” 

“I will,” declared Wilbur Crane. 

“All right. If we are careful we can live 
for weeks on these things. But if we eat and 
drink as we please we shall be chewing our 
boot-legs in no time.” 

There was some grumbling over the dis- 
cipline among the crowd, and it was notice- 
able that the passengers, Lopez and Brown, 
the Englishman, were as disgruntled as the 
rest. 

“There’s no use in kicking, men,” declared 
the steamship’s officer, calmly. “We are just 
as much upon the Red Arrow's deck as ever 
we were, and you’ll obey me just the same. If 
we have luck and keep our heads level we’ll 
get out of this; but there must be one boss. 
Just obey orders, all of you, and keep away 
from the provisions, and we’ll get along all 
right. 

“Carter, I hold you responsible for the food 
and water. If anything happens to either 
I’ll deal summarily with you, you may be 
sure. Our lives are in your hands and you 
must be faithful to your trust.” 


102 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

“But what are we going to do if the raft 
breaks up?” demanded one of the sailors. 
“You’ve got a boat yonder.” 

“That boat is at the service of Miss Mar- 
tell,” returned Sickles quickly. “Mr. Per- 
kins, who is second in command, Jim, and 
Carter have rights in the boat. They came 
here in her.” 

“Might’s right here, I reckon,” growled an- 
other. 

“That’s a fact,” replied Sickles sharply. 
“And we’ve got the might and he pointed 
to the weapon tucked into Crane’s belt. “The 
man who tries to cut up rusty will stop lead. 
That’s all!” 

The men were quieted for the time, and 
Sickles exercised his ingenuity to its utmost 
in keeping them at some sort of employment 
every hour of daylight. 

By noon the sea was quite smooth. More 
than one bit of wreckage was seen floating 
near, and with the aid of the small boat they 
recovered not a few spars and some canvas. 
Perkins, the engineer, had been thoughtful 
enough to bring tools in a locker of the small 
boat, and before dark a mast had been se- 


ON THE RAFT 103 

curely erected in the forward part of the raft 
and a sail was being fashioned. 

Along the sides of the raft Sickles had pegs 
driven for rests for the oars, so that the un- 
wieldy craft might be steered, and even pro- 
pelled in a calm sea. All the chests and bar- 
rels, whether empty or full, which they spied 
were brought to the raft and piled amidships 
for a shelter for the crew. If the sea remained 
smooth there was little danger of the raft 
breaking up. They saw the night shut down 
about them with more hope than they had 
felt in the morning. 

Crane had found time to make a much 
more comfortable bed for Jessie than that 
which she had occupied the first night. Also, 
he had begged a piece of canvas from Sickles 
and placed it over the narrow space between 
the boat and the pile of boxes and water casks, 
thus making a shelter to which she might 
withdraw. She was there shielded from the 
dew by night and the sun during the day, as 
well as from the curious eyes of her fellow- 
voyagers. 

There was little doubt that her situation 
caused Jessie Martell acute suffering. To be 


104 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


the only woman upon this raft with nearly a 
score of rough men about her, was sufficient 
cause for this. Coupled with the unpleasant- 
ness of her position was her anxiety for the 
safety of Mrs. Buchanan and the knowledge 
that, if the latter were herself safe, she would 
be equally troubled about her niece. 

The natural instincts of manliness possessed 
by even the roughest of her companions might 
be sufficient to shield her from insult; yet the 
scenes through which they were passing were 
rude. There was no one to whom she could 
turn for shelter — not even the man who for 
a year had been her fiance. He had proved 
himself an arrant coward, and he still seemed 
too scared to do anything. The other two pas- 
sengers were plainly men of the baser sort. 
Sickles and Perkins seemed to have little 
thought for her, while Carter, although he 
did so much for her comfort, kept aloof. 

He had told her he was only a stoker; yet 
she knew by his manner of speech that he was 
a person of education. She remembered that 
there had been a stowaway who had saved a 
boy from drowning and afterward been sent 
into the fire-room to work. She wondered if 


ON THE RAFT 


105 


Carter were he. There was something about 
him that repelled her curiosity, however; she 
could not ask him about himself. 

“Queer, but there is something about him 
that puts me in mind of Wilbur Crane,’’ she 
murmured. “Poor, poor Will ! How he must 
suffer in that horrid prison! Oh, why must 
men do such dreadful things!” There were 
tears in her eyes and she gave a long sigh. But 
Crane was so scarred from the perils through 
which he had passed, so blistered and so be- 
grimed, that there was small chance of her 
recognizing him. 

The next day the weather had cleared and 
the sun beat pitilessly down upon the cast- 
aways. The heat was hard to bear, and before 
night more than one was grumbling over the 
small amount of water dealt out. But Sickles 
was imperturbable. 

“If you don’t like it you can lump it,” he 
said coolly. “I’m boss yet, and you’ll obey, 
my hearties. I warrant none of you’ll die 
for want of water yet awhile.” 

But the dissatisfaction grew as the third 
and fourth days passed. Not a scrap of sail 
had been sighted. They had no instruments 


106 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


with which to learn their position, but the 
compass told them that they were drifting 
almost due south. The heat was all but un- 
bearable. 

Crane, who racked his brain to remember 
all he had ever read about wrecks and catas- 
trophes of like sort, relieved Jessie’s suffering 
and his own to some extent by wetting their 
outer clothing in sea water and putting the 
garments on again. But the sailors would not 
follow his example. 

Sickles dealt out the day’s rations of food 
and water every morning to each man. The 
wise heads husbanded their stores. The ill- 
affected ate all the food at once, and were 
usually out of water before noon. 

On the fifth day, when the distribution of 
rations was made, one of the most mutinous 
fellows drank up his pannikin of water the 
moment he got it and dashed the empty tin 
back into the mate’s face. 

^‘There!” he said, with an oath, ^‘I’ll have 
enough for once. And I’ll work no more for 
you.” 

Sickles immediately knocked him down. 
His friends removed the fellow before there 


QN THE RAFT 


107 


was further trouble. That day Don Burke 
came secretly to Jessie. He had scarcely 
spoken to her before. 

‘‘I want you to come with me,” he said 
slowly. “You think me a coward; but I’m 
not coward enough to see you hurt. There 
is going to be trouble.” 

“If there is, why do you not ally yourself 
with us?” demanded the girl. 

“Lopez and Brown and I are going to keep 
neutral,” he said. “The supplies have got to 
be divided, and then each party can do as it 
pleases. We’ll see that you get your share.” 

“Yes, each will have his share,” said Jessie 
bravely. “But after those sailors have eaten 
theirs they’ll want another division.” 

“Sickles or that Carter has told you that,” 
growled Burke. “But there are as good men 
as they among the sailors.” 

“Perhaps. But I prefer to trust myself 
here,” Jessie responded quietly. 

“You would rather trust yourself with them 
than with me?” he asked. 

“Yes, if you wish to know.” 

“I am your affianced husband,” said Burke, 


108 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


with a very red face. “I ask you to come for 
your own safety.” 

“Our position is too insecure for us to 
prophesy what we shall do if we are saved,” 
Jessie said, with flashing eyes; “but I would 
rather die here than be married to a coward 1” 

“You will be sorry for that,” cried 
Burke chokingly. “I do not want to see you 
harmed ” 

“If you know of a plot against us and do 
not warn Mr. Sickles, you are a tenfold worse 
coward than you showed yourself to be aboard 
the Red Arrow 

Burke left her in anger. Later in the day 
she saw him in close conversation with the 
man who had been knocked down by Sickles. 
That day, too, sharks appeared for the first 
time, and their sinister three-cornered fins cut 
the sea all about the raft. The older sailors 
looked upon this as an ill-omen, and despair 
settled upon every survivor. 


CHAPTER X 

THE MUTINY 

The men lay about at their end of the raft 
all day, keeping as much as possible in the 
shade of the sail. The sun was pitiless, but 
occasionally a light breeze ruffled the water 
and bellied the heavy canvas. The raft 
moved but slowly, but it moved. This was 
better than idly drifting to and fro as the 
ocean currents willed. 

No other sail appeared upon the sea; no 
haze on the horizon signaled the presence of 
a steamer. The Red Arrow must have been 
driven far off the course of other vessels. 
They had no instruments with which to take 
the sun and figure their real position, but 
the engineer and Sickles both had fine chro- 
nometers, and neither had been injured by the 
water. Therefore, by an ingenious process 
which he had seen worked somewhere. Sickles 
declared that the next day he would try to 
learn their situation, using the Boston time of 
109 


110 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

the watches as the basis of his calculations. 
If they could once find the longitudinal line 
the raft was following they would be able to 
decide in which direction to steer to reach 
more frequented waters. 

Something must soon occur to change the 
temper of the sailors, or there would be a 
serious outbreak. They would no longer obey 
the commands of the two officers, and Sickles 
was in a rage. 

‘T wish to thunder I’d saved that old boat 
and tried to patch it up,” he declared toward 
night. “I swear I’d give ’em their share of 
the food and water and set ’em afloat in her.” 

“That’s what they want,” said Crane, who 
had been asleep most of the day, but to whom 
Jessie had repeated what Don Burke had told 
her. “They want their share of the food and 
water.” 

“They’ll not get it while I live,” Sickles de- 
clared, with warmth. “They’d stuff them- 
selves like hogs if they got the chance, and 
would be murdering us for our share in less 
than a week. I only thank heaven there’s no 
liquor on board. There’d be no controlling 
them at all if there was.” 


THE MUTINY 111 

^^You’ll have your hands full anyway,” said 
Crane, examining his pistol. 

^^That’s all right,” said the officer. “You 
keep your eye on the stuff. Carter, and don’t 
let any of ’em get too near; that Johnson, 
especially. If I’d had that gun, I’d have shot 
him instead of knocking him down this morn- 
ing.” 

“You’re a bloodthirsty chap. Sickles,” said 
Perkins. 

“I’m not. But I know what it means to be 
too tender with a lot of mutineers. I was 
aboard the old Calypso of Baltimore, when 
her crew mutinied, and the old man tried 
^moral suasion.’ Well, what happened? The 
devils got at the rum first of all. Then they 
murdered the captain, his wife and child, and 
the two mates. I held the galley, with the 
cook and a boy named Pedro, for ten days, 
and then we sighted a French gunboat and at- 
tracted her attention to our plight by blowing 
up the forward deck with a barrel of gun- 
powder. The cook had a way of getting into 
the hold from the pantry, and Pedro touched 
off the fuse after I’d made it. Every blessed 
mother’s son of those mutineers that wasn’t 


112 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

blown up was hung,” concluded Sickles, with 
satisfaction. 

“Perhaps some steamer may sight us,” sug- 
gested Crane, with a shudder. “Those fel- 
lows are getting wicked, and we can’t depend 
on help from the passengers.” 

“Not even Burke?” demanded Perkins. 
“Wasn’t his father a part owner of the 
steamer?” 

“She was owned by Martell & Burke — 
yes,” returned Sickles. “But what can you 
expect from a cowardly hound like him? As 
for the Portuguese, he’s like the rest of these 
dagoes, as treacherous as a cat.” 

“And the Englishman?” 

“He’s a blackleg — shows it in his face. 
He’ll be hand and glove with the men if 
there’s an outbreak.” 

It was decided that Crane should not be 
left alone to watch that night, and Sickles and 
the engineer divided the hours of darkness 
between them. It was cloudy, and by mid- 
night not a star was visible. A pale glow 
shone over the water, but it revealed little 
of the outlines of objects on the raft. Wilbur 
Crane strained his eyes until they ached to 


THE MUTINY 


113 


peer into the gloom. Despite the fact that 
one of the others was on guard with him, he 
felt that responsibility for the safety of the 
supplies and of Jessie rested on him. 

Perkins went to bed about midnight, and 
Sickles took his place. The two watchers 
were sitting together upon an empty cracker 
box an hour later when a slight noise forward 
aroused them. The heavy breathing of the 
sleeping men had been all the audible sounds 
for hours; but this that now disturbed them 
seemed like the struggle of two persons in 
fierce combat Both watchers started to their 
feet in alarm. 

^‘What deviltry’s that?” demanded Sickles, 
with his hand to his ear. 

The sounds continued ; yet the sleepers ap- 
peared not to notice it Crane could hear their 
heavy breathing. 

“Look out here — I’m going forward,” said 
the mate, in a low voice. 

“Here — take this,” whispered Crane, ten- 
dering the automatic pistol. 

Sickles held out his hand; then drew it 
back. “No,” he said. “The food and water 


114 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


must be guarded. I won’t take it. This may 
be a trick.” 

He instantly disappeared in the darkness. 
For some time Crane heard nothing further. 
Even the sound of the struggle had ceased. 
He listened intently, holding the cocked pis- 
tol ready for use. A couple of long, long min- 
utes passed. 

Then suddenly there was a shout from out 
of the darkness. It was Sickles’ voice : 

“Look out. Carter 1 Mutiny!” 

His words were drowned by a roar of other 
voices and the sound of a furious struggle. 
Crane heard blows and curses delivered in 
the darkness, but he could not see anything 
clearly. 

“Shoot ’em like dogs! They’ll charge you!” 
yelled Sickles again. His words ended in a 
choking gurgle. The battle continued. 

Crane shouted to Perkins, and kicked him 
in the ribs to arouse him. Jessie was already 
awake and had sprung to her feet. She 
clutched Crane by the arm and stood by his 
side, panting, but betraying her fear in no 
other way. 

The engineer, finally awakened, leaped to 


THE MUTINY 


115 


the lifeboat and tore open one of the lockers. 
He drew out a small, candle-like object and 
set it upright on the deck. The next instant a 
sputtering light flashed up. 

The dazzling glow spread and deepened. 
In a minute the glare of the Bengal light re- 
vealed the raft and the sea for yards about. 
Against this light the black shapes of the men 
showed like giants. 

At the further end of the raft two figures 
were struggling desperately upon its very 
edge. Even as the signal fire sprang up, 
Crane saw the flash of metal between them, 
and shrill, stuttering cry burst from Sickles’ 
lips. He saw plainly the mate’s agonized face 
as he tottered back and fell with a splash into 
the sea. 

Then the light died down and went out, 
leaving their eyes smarting from the glare, 
while an awed hush fell upon all. The dark- 
ness seemed thicker than before, and the 
breathing of the castaways was scarcely 
audible. 


CHAPTER XI 

THE DEAD-LINE 

Wilbur Crane felt the girl at his side 
tighten her clasp upon his arm, but she did not 
utter a sound. He closed his eyes for a mo- 
ment to ease them from the shock of the sud- 
den change from light to darkness. 

And while he stood with his eyes closed, he 
lifted up his soul in prayer to God as he had 
never done before. The Almighty Ruler of 
the universe had seemed shut away from him 
by the prison walls. He had never railed at 
the Omnipotent Power; but he had ignored 
It. 

Now, however, he felt his own helplessness 
and inability to shield this woman from the 
danger which menaced her. He prayed for 
strength and for wisdom — not for his own 
sake, but for hers. 

^‘My God! he’s killed the mate!” exclaimed 
Perkins, his raucous cry ending the silence. 

“It was Johnson ! Didn’t you see him?” 

ii6 


THE DEAD-LINE 


117 


*‘Not his face,” Crane replied. 

“Knifed him! Johnson’s their ringleader. 
If they make a rush, what’ll we do?” 

“Fight. Have you a knife?” 

“An old machete, in the boat.” 

“Get it. I’m going to shoot at the first thing 
I see moving. Got any more of those lights? 
I left my flashlight on the ship.” 

“A whole box full — save the one I lit.” 

“Good! Bring out one and have it ready 
against our need.” Then Crane raised his 
voice so that the mutineers could hear. “See 
here, men! listen to me. I’ve got an auto- 
matic here, and I promise you I’ll shoot on 
the slightest provocation. If any man tries 
to come aft I’ll put a bullet in him.” 

“Hold on!” whispered Perkins, anxiously. 
“There’s Jim, you know. He oughtn’t to go 
with those hounds. Mebbe he’ll try to join 
us an’ you’ll shoot him. And there’s the pas- 
sengers.” 

“They must wait till daylight,” responded 
Crane firmly. “We can’t run any risks. If 
three or four of ’em should creep up on us 
we’d be done for.” Then he turned to the 
girl. “Now, Miss Martell, you go and lie 


118 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

down again. I don’t believe there’ll be any 
further disturbance to-night.” 

“Oh, why did they do it?” she cried in 
horror. 

“They’re after the food. Thought if they 
could settle poor Sickles we’d give in, I sup- 
pose,” growled Perkins. “Leastways, John- 
son probably thought so.” 

“He’ll find out his mistake,” Crane de- 
clared, with decision. 

“Let them have the food,” begged Jessie. 

“I thought you were more sensible than 
that. Miss Martell,” Crane said, quietly. “It 
would only put off the trouble for a while. 
The battle was bound to come. We might 
as well have it now, when we’re prepared for 
it.” 

He sent her back to her shelter while he and 
Perkins reviewed the situation in whispers. 

“They’ve got us foul. Carter,” declared the 
engineer, hopelessly. 

“Nothing of the kind,” was the quick reply. 
“It’s we that have got them foul. They are a 
big crowd for us two to handle, but we’ve got 
the grub and water. We can starve them into 
submission.” 


119 


THE DEAD-LINE 

‘‘They’ll risk stopping your bullets when it 
comes to that.” 

“Then some of ’em will get hurt — and 
Johnson will be the first,” declared Crane, 
warmly. “If it comes to shooting. I’ll make 
sure of him/' 

“Well, you must take command — I can’t,” 
vouchsafed the engineer hopelessly. 

“It’s your place, Mr. Perkins.” 

“I can’t help it. I don’t dare take the re- 
sponsibility. All our lives depend on who 
governs the crew.” 

“Miss Martell’s life depends upon who- 
ever takes command,” Crane agreed. “I 
think more of that than anything.” 

“You do it, then.” 

“One of us must. If you won’t ” 

“I’ll stand by you,” said Perkins hastily, 
“but I don’t dare take it upon myself to try 
to handle that bunch.” 

Wilbur Crane would have dared anything 
for the girl whose safety depended upon their 
wisdom and discretion. 

The two men watched together until the sun 
rose above the sea-line and the figures of the 
men at the farther end of the raft stood out 


120 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

sharply. They were in two groups — the pas- 
sengers in one and the seamen in another. 
Jim, the engineer’s assistant, did not seem to 
wish to leave his companions. 

“You give him a chance. Carter,” whis- 
pered the engineer. “It don’t seem as though 
that boy would go back on me.” 

Wilbur Crane had determined to take the 
first step himself — not to wait for the muti- 
neers’ lead. Johnson was the leading spirit 
among them, and after murdering Sickles he 
had doubtless formed some further plan of 
action. Crane proposed to forestall this by 
getting in his own plan first. 

Giving the pistol to Perkins, he took a 
length of small line and a couple of spikes 
and stretched the rope across the raft, 
dividing it nearly in the center. The men 
watched him curiously, but made no move- 
ment to stop him. When he had finished he 
took the pistol again and spoke to them. 

“This side of that line is ours ; the other side 
is yours,” he said briefly. “I’ll shoot the man 
who touches that line or crosses it without 
orders from me — shoot him instantly. Do you 
understand? Now I’m going to give you your 


THE DEAD-LINE 


121 


day’s rations — but you won’t have to come 
here for them. Mr. Perkins will set ’em down 
by the line.” 

There was a growl among the men. John- 
son rose ot his feet. 

“See here,” he said. “We ain’t takin’ 
orders from no damned stoker. That grub’s 
more ourn than it is yourn, an’ we’re goin’ to 
have what we want.” 

Crane turned upon him fiercely. He 
pointed the pistol unwaveringly at the sail- 
or’s breast. 

“Not another word!” he shouted. “I’m 
only waiting for a chance to put a bullet in 
your cowardly carcass. You’d better not give 
me an excuse.” 

Johnson was cowed — at least for the mo- 
ment. 

“If any of you want to join us over here,” 
continued Crane, “do it now. This is your 
chance to leave a lot of mutinous villains and 
come, and it’s your last chancel Come now 
if you’re coming.” 

Jim half arose, but at a look from Johnson 
dropped back again. 

“You blooming young fool, you!” yelled 


122 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

Perkins, shaking his machete at his assistant. 
‘‘I’ll live to see you hung for this!” 

“Well, we’d ought to have our share of the 
grub and water,” muttered Jim. 

“That’s enough!” exclaimed Crane, pro- 
posing to countenance no argument. “It’s 
evident you don’t want to come, my man. 
Last call, now.” 

He looked from the sailors to the three 
former passengers of the Red Arrow. Brown, 
the Englishman, was their spokesman. 

“We’re goin’ to remain neutral, that’s what 
we're goin’ to do,” he said. “We hold we’ve 
a right to do that.” 

“Those who aren’t with us are against us,” 
returned Crane, sharply. “Now remember 
it. If you undertake to cross that line after 
this. I’ll shoot you as quick as I would one 
of the others. Day or night — it makes no dif- 
ference to me. I reckon I can do for most 
of you at such close range as this. There are 
ten cartridges in this gun.” 

He spoke coldly and without a tremor in 
his voice. The mutineers shuffled their feet 
uneasily and looked at him in something like 
wonder. There were rough men there — men 


THE DEAD-LINE 


123 


who had seen more cruel things than those 
which had occurred on board this raft — but 
his calm manner, his cold tone, the steely glit- 
ter of his eyes, cowed them. 

He was a stronger man than Sickles had 
been — or, at least, they thought so. They did 
not know how he shrank within himself and 
shuddered as he uttered the awful threat 
against the lives of these, his, fellow-creatures. 
But the presence of the girl behind him — the 
knowledge that in his firmness lay her only 
safety — kept his voice unshaken and his hand 
steady. 

“Now we understand each other,” he con- 
tinued, after a moment. “Come up to this 
line now, one after another, and leave your 
tins. Mr. Perkins will fill them and give 
each his share of bread. We don’t know 
where we are. You’ve killed the only man 
among us who could have figured out our 
position. We shall all have to suffer for it.” 

In unbroken silence Perkins distributed the 
food and the warm, ill-smelling water, and 
each man accepted his share. They were 
an unsavory lot — hollow-cheeked, unshaven, 
dirty and wild looking. Jessie kept behind 


124 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


her awning most of the time so that she might 
not see them. She said not a word about 
Burke. 

Crane had the sail raised, not that there was 
any breeze, but the canvas cast a shade for 
the men a part of the day. The tropical sun 
beat down on the unprotected raft unceas- 
ingly; not a cloud obscured it. The water 
was a sheet of green glass, the sky a dome of 
unflecked blue. 

The water from the barrels was nauseous, 
it was so warm. Crane, ever mindful of Jes- 
sie’s comfort, cooled her share of the liquid 
by pouring it into a flask and, after tightly 
corking it, sinking it deep in the sea. The 
lower strata of the ocean cooled it until it 
was fairly pleasant to the taste. 

“How can I ever thank you for your kind- 
ness, Mr. Carter?” she said timidly, when he 
brought it to her. 

“By keeping up your spirits as much as pos- 
sible,” he replied, in a hoarse tone, stroking 
the beard that now masked his face. “Eat 
your rations and drink your water slowly. 
Husband your strength. We may be rescued 
at any hour, or we may remain on this raft 



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THE DEAD-LINE 


125 


for weeks. If the latter, we shall see more 
dreadful times than these, and we must all 
keep up our courage.” 

He tried to speak cheerfully, and to look 
as he spoke. But when he sat alone in the 
shade of the cracker boxes, the pistol on his 
knee and his eyes fixed on the group of sul- 
len men beyond that dead-line, his heart sank. 
He could not hide the fact from himself that 
things could not go on long as they were. The 
mutiny was only stayed, its fires were not 
stamped out. 


CHAPTER XII 

THE FLYING FISH 

We read of the silence of the tomb; of the 
silence which broods over nature preceding 
a storm ; of the silence of some ruined and for- 
gotten city, where the footstep of man has not 
awakened the echoes for centuries. But there 
is a stillness with which all this cannot be 
compared. The dumbness, the utter quietude, 
of death cannot surpass it. It is the silence of 
the tropical sea in a dead calm — a plain of 
green glass, unbroken by wave or ripple, with- 
out even the customary swell. 

On a vast expanse of glassy ocean, with the 
sun blazing overhead by day and the bril- 
liantly-burning Southern Cross above the 
horizon at night, floated the raft which bore 
up the survivors of the steamer Red Arrow, 
The huge, patched sail hung from the rude 
spar as wrinkled and shapeless as an ele- 
phant’s hide. There was seldom any wind, 
but the canvas threw a grateful shadow. 

126 


THE FLYING FISH 


127 


The two groups of castaways lay panting at 
opposite ends of the raft by day. At night 
everybody found some surcease from despair 
and suffering in sleep — everybody but Wil- 
bur Crane. He never closed his eyes at night, 
and only at Jessie’s earnest solicitation did he 
sleep for a part of the day beneath her awn- 
ing. 

During the long, burning hours of daylight 
the eyes of the castaways were continually 
straining for the sight of some patch of sail, 
or for a blot of smoke upon the horizon. But 
these did not reward their eager gaze. 

A momentary excitement would be afforded 
by the appearance of a tiny speck on the line 
where the sky and water met. But immedi- 
ately they fell back in indifference as one of 
those lone sea-travelers, the albatross, sailed 
slowly up the sky. Its great wings would 
bring the bird quickly to the raft, near which 
it would sail curiously, and then go on its tire- 
less journey. The sharp-finned sharks, too, 
appeared and swam tamely about, turning up 
their wicked eyes longingly, and then dis- 
appearing beneath the oily surface with an 
impatient whisk of their tails. They were 


128 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


waiting, as they always do, these ill-omened 
tigers of the sea ! 

At night, when the calm stars looked out of 
the blue depths, wearied eyes still watched. 
Every bright planet which rose above the 
horizon was gazed at almost breathlessly till 
its true character was established beyond a 
doubt. It might be the welcome light of some 
rescuing vessel. 

As the night grew and the darkness brooded 
deeper over the sea, weird shapes rushed by 
the raft, or sported in the liquid plain with 
much blowing and splashing. But when these 
leviathans had dived and left the phospho- 
rescent waves to return to their calm, the 
silence seemed the more intense for their in- 
terruption. 

Day followed night, night followed day, 
and this silence continued. Such an experi- 
ence drives some men insane ; others it stirs to 
all that is hateful and devilish. Wilbur Crane 
understood the situation and watched John- 
son and his crew untiringly. 

He could not trust Perkins for long, for 
the awful experience was telling sadly on the 
engineer. He was despondent and forgetful, 


129 


THE FLYING FISH 

and sometimes sat beside Crane and told him 
long, rambling stories about his home “down 
on the Cape” and of his early fishing trips to 
the Newfoundland banks before he learned 
engineering. He began, too, to expatiate on 
the dinners his mother used to cook for him 
when the fleet got in, and to chatter about the 
well of sweet water on the highland behind 
his mother’s cottage, until Crane was nearly 
driven frantic. 

One barrel of water was entirely empty 
now ; but the other proved to be much better, 
as it had worked and cleared itself. The ship- 
biscuit and tins of meat were still good — such 
as were left. But it took much to feed seven- 
teen people, even when the rations were dis- 
tributed carefully. It was now the eighth 
day since the wreck, and they might as well 
have been sailing upon an unknown and en- 
tirely unexplored ocean, as far as sighting 
other craft went, instead of drifting in a well- 
charted part of the South Atlantic. 

Jessie was the most cheerful person among 
the castaways. She kept her hair done up 
neatly, and mended her gown with the aid of 
Perkins’ “sailor’s companion.” She never 


130 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

complained at their hard situation, or of the 
coarse and meager fare, though her cheeks 
grew thin and pale and deep shadows gath- 
ered beneath her eyes. When she could no 
longer smile she retired silently beneath her 
canvas awning and kept her bitter tears to 
herself. 

Crane would have increased her share of 
the food and water had she not watched him 
closely; but while she was asleep he often 
poured a part of his own pannikin of water 
into her bottle. 

The men grumbled, or quarreled among 
themselves. Johnson still retained his leader- 
ship ; but he had not secured what they 
wished, and some of the grumbling was at 
him. One of the sailors was caught stealing 
from the others — a most heinous crime, when 
it is taken into consideration that it was food 
and water the poor wretch stole. Nothing 
much was said, but that night the fellow dis- 
appeared, and the next day the evil-eyed 
and greedy sharks followed the raft closer 
than ever. 

Crane found some twine and a rusty fish- 
hook in the boat and rigged a line, baiting the 


THE FLYING FISH 


131 


hook first with a piece of bright cloth, and 
then with a bit of meat from his own rations. 
But the fish were either feeding at too great a 
depth, or there were no fish at all in this part 
of the sea. He was not encouraged by even a 
nibble. 

Had he possessed a harpoon he would have 
tried to harpoon a shark, although that would 
have made sorry eating. He was afraid his 
pistol bullets would make no impression on 
the leathery-hided fish, and, besides, he did 
not want to waste his cartridges. 

On the ninth day, as Crane lay propped up 
against the water butt, with his head and 
shoulders in the shade and the pistol on his 
knee, he saw something flash across the range 
of his vision and drop with a splash into the 
sea upon the other side of the raft. 

He raised himself into a sitting posture and 
stared from side to side in surprise. Again he 
saw a like silvery flash, and something leaped 
from the still water upon one side and 
dropped back into the still water on the other. 
It was a flying-fish. 

He arose eagerly. His sun-dazzled eyes 
beheld a score of the silvery bodies flashing 


132 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


in the air. A school of these peculiar inhab- 
itants of the ocean was passing. He struck 
at one wildly, but it was too high. The men 
at the further end of the raft were roused as 
well. 

Suddenly a gleaming fish dashed blindly 
against the sail which was spread. It fell 
back upon the raft and lay there flopping 
wildly. One of the sailors reached the 
precious prize first. The flying-fish had 
fallen inside the “dead-line” Crane had 
stretched across the raft, but in his eagerness 
to secure it the sailor did not notice the rope. 
His foot tripped on it and he fell sprawling 
upon his face, but he clutched the struggling 
fish as he fell. 

The others made a rush. Crane recovered 
himself instantly. 

“Get back there!” he shouted. “Don’t one 
of you cross that line!” The men fell back 
with sullen growls. 

“Drop that fish — quick!” again com- 
manded Crane, pointing the pistol at the 
sailor. 

“It’s mine! I got it!” cried the fellow. 
“I’ll have the fish!” 


THE FLYING FISH 


133 


‘‘You drop it and get behind that line 
quicker than lightning, or I’ll shoot!” 

“Shoot and be damned!” growled the sailor. 
“I’ll have the fish.” 

“I’ll give you till I count three,” and Crane 
began to count at once : “One — two ” 

The muzzle of the pistol was trained on 
the sailor’s breast. He dropped the fish and 
staggered backward over the line. Crane 
sprang and seized the prize and then backed 
away to his own part of the raft, his gaze still 
fixed on the mutineers. 

“See here!” cried Johnson, coming to the 
fore, “that fish oughter be divided even. It 
belongs to all of us. You ain’t goin’ to hog 
it! You fellers have got everything — the 
woman an’ all.” 

“The fish belongs to Miss Martell,” de- 
clared Crane, “and she shall have every bone 
of it. She is dying for a change of diet — ^we 
men can stand it better than she. I promise 
you not a bit shall pass Mr. Perkins’ lips nor 
mine.” 

“Stow that!” growled Johnson. “We want 
what’s ourn, that’s what we want! Women 
is just the same as men here! That fish is 
goin’ to be divided!” 


134 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

Crane had backed against a cask and stood 
watching the disaffected men closely. He 
held the fish behind him. Perkins crouched 
near, looking on with dull and unappreciative 
eyes. Jessie was out of sight beneath her 
awning. 

“Perkins!” said Crane in a low voice, “get 
your machete and prepare to repel boarders.” 

Perkins, at last aroused to the serious na- 
ture of the situation, scrambled to his feet, 
Johnson was already at the dead-line. His 
passion-inflamed face worked horribly. He 
crouched like a cat about to spring upon its 
prey. 

“Stop where you are, Johnson!” ordered 
Crane. 

Like a flash the sailor’s hand sought his 
belt. There was the glint of steel as the long 
knife sprang from its sheath, and in a second 
it went whistling through the air. It was 
done so quickly that Crane could not spring 
aside. 

Like an arrow from the bow the keen blade 
crossed the space which separated them and 
pinned Crane’s shoulder to the cask. Clean 
through the shoulder the steel tore its way. 


THE FLYING FISH 


135 


and the point stuck firmly into the cask against 
which the man leaned. Crane felt the blood 
spurt from the wound and run down his arm. 
The pistol loosened in his grasp. 

With a hoarse shout Johnson leaped across 
the dead-line and plunged toward him. 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE MADMAN 

Crane, pinned to the cask, his right hand 
useless, seized the pistol with his left before 
it could fall to the deck. There was a flash 
and a report. Johnson stopped instantly, 
swayed for a moment with both hands clutch- 
ing his breast, then fell prone upon his face. 

Several of his mates had followed him 
across the dead-line, but they hesitated. 
Crane turned his weapon on them. 

“Get back to your places!’’ he said, his voice 
unshaken despite the pain of his wound. 

They slunk back to the further end of the 
raft. It was noticeable that the three passen- 
gers had taken no part in this outbreak; 
neither had they done anything to stay it. 

Perkins ran forward to the prostrate man, 
and, finding him dead, rolled the body into 
the water. Jessie came out from her little 
shelter with a face that went white, but with 
steady nerves. 


136 


THE MADMAN 137 

“Oh, Mr. Carter! You are wounded!” she 
exclaimed, her voice tense with feeling. 

The blood was dripping from the ends of 
his fingers to the deck and had already 
formed a little pool there. He dared not 
move for fear of further lacerating the 
wound, which pained him almost unbearably. 

“It is not very bad — at least, I think not,” 
he muttered. “But it is painful.” His face 
was like chalk; his lips were trembling. “See, 
the knife holds me to the cask. Call Perkins 
and let him get it out. I can’t reach it my- 
self.” 

But she did not call the engineer. , She 
came to him and examined the knife. “I will 
pull it out,” she said. “I shall not faint, Mr. 
Carter; do not fear.” 

She laid hold of the knife, and with a 
steady hand drew it from the wound. The 
blood spurted, but she did not wince. Crane 
felt weak and faint. She aided him to a seat 
on a cracker box. Perkins came to them. 

“The poor devil was dead as a door-nail,” 
he said briefly. 

“Take the automatic and keep your eye on 
those others,” commanded Crane. “My 


138 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


shoulder pains me so that I couldn’t hit the 
side of a barn now.” 

‘‘You hit him all right,” said Perkins 
grimly. “You’d ought to done it before.” 

Crane nodded. “Look out for that fish, 
Perkins. Whittle up a board and make a fire. 
I was going to keep it for Miss Martell.” 

“Oh! never mind she interposed. 

“I’m going to dress your wound, Mr. Carter. 
Let me help you off with your coat.” 

Painfully he drew his left arm out of the 
sleeve and gritted his teeth desperately while 
she drew the coat down over the wounded 
shoulder. The vest came more easily, but he 
let her cut away the shirt, slitting the sleeve 
from wrist to collar. The knife had been 
driven through the fleshy part of the shoul- 
der, but aside from being an extremely pain- 
ful wound it was no serious matter. 

But Jessie would not allow him to treat it 
lightly. She bound up the wound and despite 
his objection drew fresh water from the butt 
with which to wash it. Crane was in no con- 
dition to argue with her. He was as weak as 
a child for the time being. She made him lie 
down beneath her awning and sat beside him 


THE MADMAN 


139 


till he dropped asleep in order to keep the 
bandages on his wound wet. 

He closed his eyes, not daring to look up 
into the sweet face bending above him. The 
gentle weight of her hand on his forehead 
filled his soul with ecstasy. And yet, in his 
present situation he was as far removed from 
Jessie Martell as the East is from the West! 

She was being no kinder to him than she 
would have been to any seaman or stoker who 
stood in the same relation to her. Had Per- 
kins been the man wounded, she would have 
done as much for him. It was a bitter 
thought. He who had once been so close a 
friend and comrade of this girl was now sep- 
arated from her by that unsurmountable 
prison wall. 

But he went to sleep, and despite the wound 
rested peacefully until late in the afternoon. 
When he awoke he found that the mutineers 
had made a barricade of all the boxes and 
casks they could lay their hands upon, and 
had retired out of sight behind it. The situa- 
tion aboard the raft had taken on the nature 
of an armistice. Who could say when trouble 
might break out again? 


140 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


Jessie redressed the wound, but Crane 
would not allow her to use any more of the 
fresh water for it, and he was determined to 
keep his customary watch that night. 

‘‘I might as well,’’ he said to her. shan’t 
be able to sleep, and there’s no use in more 
than one of us remaining awake.” 

In truth, his wound was paining him cru- 
elly, but there was another and stronger rea- 
son why he did not wish to let Perkins remain 
longer on guard. The engineer was becom- 
ing more erratic in his actions and speech 
every hour. The experiences of the past few 
days were. Crane feared, undermining the 
man’s reason. He was glad to get the pistol 
back into his own hands again. He felt that 
Jessie was safe only when he had possession 
of the weapon. 

Perkins had broken up a box cover and 
built a fire in a boat bailer. Over this blaze 
the flying fish was broiled and Crane made 
Jessie eat it all. She was so hungry that it 
did not take any great amount of urging, al- 
though she wished to be unselfish. 

The scent of the cooking fish in Crane’s 
nostrils was almost maddening, and it even 


THE MADMAN 


141 


permeated to the further end of the raft. 
Dark, sullen faces were raised above the bar- 
rier, and the eyes of the famished men glared 
at him balefully. 

Perkins, who was much excited, paced the 
raft until long after dark. 

Finally ail was quiet aboard the raft but 
for the heavy breathing of the sleepers. The 
moon had not yet risen, and only the starlight 
illuminated the sea. As Crane had told Jes- 
sie, there was little danger of his falling 
asleep at his post that night — the wound in 
his shoulder pained him too poignantly. 

It was near midnight. Suddenly Crane 
heard a little stir in the nook behind him, 
where Perkins made his bed. He sat up and 
listened intently. Then he arose and stepped 
lightly to the spot. 

The engineer’s place was empty. Crane 
looked keenly about him, but for a moment 
could see nothing. He heard the lap, lap of 
the water against the edge of the raft; he 
could faintly distinguish Jessie’s regular res- 
pirations behind the canvas curtain. Then 
he heard another sound at the further end of 
the small boat. He turned quickly. A 


142 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


crouching figure was making its way slowly 
along in the shadow of the boxes and water 
butts. It was the engineer. 

Crane watched him anxiously. What was 
he about? Had he heard some suspicious 
movement among the mutineers which he 
himself had failed to notice? Or was he 
turning traitor? Such experiences as these 
through which Crane was passing made him 
suspicious. His grasp tightened on his pistol 
and he took a cautious step or two toward the 
man. 

The engineer went forward on his hands 
and knees. The moon began to show its sil- 
ver rim above the sea. Of a sudden it grew 
lighter on the raft. Raising himself on one 
knee, the engineer cast a quick glance about 
him. His face was plainly revealed in the 
moonlight. It looked horribly drawn and 
pale, and the sunken eyes glared wildly. He 
looked directly at Crane for a few moments, 
apparently without seeing him. Then he be- 
gan to beckon, to wave his arms, to crouch 
low and then spring upright, swaying his 
body from side to side. 

Crane watched, strangely fascinated. The 


THE MADMAN 


143 


engineer suddenly sprang with the quickness 
and agility of a cat, nearer to Jessie MartelPs 
shelter. 

“Food! food!’’ he muttered. “Come, all 
of you! There’s food at the bottom of the 
sea! The girl — she must come too!” Then, 
with a scream that seemed as if it could have 
come from no creature of this earth, he moved 
once more with a spasmodic jump toward the 
canvas curtain that sheltered the girl. 

Crane sprang forward with a hoarse cry, 
but Perkins turned and sped to the edge of 
the raft, where he crouched on the very verge. 

The men, roused by the two screams, 
crowded forward to the mast. Crane saw 
Jim, the engineer’s assistant, among the fore- 
most. 

“He’s mad ! Quick ! He’ll be overboard !” 
Jim sped forward, light of foot and noise- 
less, and sprang upon the back of his old 
friend. Both fell prone. Crane tossed Jim a 
piece of rope. With the assistance of a sailor 
Jim bound the engineer’s arms behind him. 

“What shall we do with him?” gasped 
Crane, quite overcome. 


144 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


“Fll look out for him,’’ said Jim. “He’s 
been a good mate to me.” 

Perkins was quiet now, and Jim drew him 
over the dead-line. In doing so he pulled the 
rope from the pegs. But Crane let it lie. He 
dragged himself back to his own end of the 
raft, and found Jessie lying in a faint on the 
hard planks. 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE CONSPIRACY 

Crane’s exertions had caused the wounded 
shoulder to bleed again, but he gave that no 
attention until he had brought Jessie back to 
consciousness. It was the first sign of weak- 
ness she had displayed, and she felt con- 
science-stricken because of her momentary 
relapse. 

Jessie Martell possessed no inconsiderable 
will power and an unusual amount of forti- 
tude. She had, however, been continually 
exercising her self-restraint for days and in an 
unguarded moment the terror of the situation 
had overpowered her. 

“Oh, I am a coward, Mr. Carter!” she ex- 
claimed, when she opened her eyes and found 
Crane chafing her hands. “It is so terrible! 
Will it never end?” 

“Don’t ask in that tone, I beg of you,” 
Crane returned, his own voice shaken. “We 
shall be saved.” 


145 


146 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


“I feel as though I were losing control of 
myself!’’ she returned. “Something must 
happen soon, or I shall be as mad as poor Mr. 
Perkins.” 

“No, no! Don’t say that — don’t even think 
it, Miss Martell,” he cried. “You mustn’t 
allow your mind to dwell on such thoughts !” 

He persuaded her to go to sleep again, and, 
whether she did or not, she lay quietly till 
dawn. Perkins was quiet most of the time, 
not even trying to break the bonds which held 
him, but Jim watched him closely. Occasion- 
ally the madman would sing in a pitifully 
cracked voice, or talk aloud to himself. But 
the paroxysm of excitement seemed to have 
passed. 

That day was by far the worst they had ex- 
perienced. When Crane divided the food 
and water he saw that there were scarcely 
three days’ rations left. He carried the sup- 
plies to the mast himself, leaving the pistol 
with Jessie. 

“I will divide the watches with you, Mr. 
Carter,” she declared. “You must sleep dur- 
ing the day.” 

He obeyed this order, and lay like a dead 


THE CONSPIRACY 


147 


man most of the day, forgetting for the time 
his sufferings. But when he awoke, his throat 
was parched with thirst. The fever of the 
wound had forced him to drink all but a few 
drops of his ration of water early in the day, 
and the longing for something with which to 
moisten his swollen tongue almost drove him 
mad. 

Poor Perkins spent the day in alternate in- 
coherent ravings and pitiful beggings for 
water. He would not touch the food offered 
him, and Crane believed that his old assistant, 
Jim, gave him a good share of his water sup- 
ply. The other men lay in the shadow of the 
sail with scarcely a word or motion. 

At sunset a little breeze sprang up and 
filled the great sail. It was a most blessed 
breath of air after the fearful heat of the day 
and behind it was a tiny black cloud. Crane 
feared to see another storm arise, yet rain 
would be a godsend indeed. 

The cloud rolled slowly up from the hori- 
zon. It blotted out the glow of the failing 
day, and shrouded, one by one, the stars. 
Finally it reached a point directly overhead, 
and then, as though divinely appointed, it 


148 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


opened its water-gates and the rain splashed 
down on the raft and the sea about it in a 
torrent. 

“It’s raining!” 

“Water! water!” 

“A drink! a drink!” 

The men, hoarse from thirst and starvation, 
shouted in their glee. They set out all the 
vessels at their command, and then laid them- 
selves in the blessed shower, prostrate on their 
backs and with their mouths open to catch 
the drops. It lasted only half an hour, but 
Crane knew it meant a new lease of life to all. 
Considerable water was caught, and the men 
drank it greedily, even wringing out their sat- 
urated clothing for the precious drops. Crane 
carefully saved all that he collected against 
future need. 

The cooling shower seemed to do the en- 
gineer much good. His wild mutterings 
ceased, and before the tiny rain cloud had 
passed he was sleeping as peacefully as a 
child. 

The following day the heat seemed the 
more unbearable because of the shower. 

The sun rose, round and red, like a ball of 


THE CONSPIRACY 


149 


smouldering fire. A fleecy cloud of mist ob- 
scured the sky, and when the sun had climbed 
higher this cloud took on a brazen hue, re- 
flecting the light dazzlingly into their tor- 
tured eyes. 

Crane made Jessie remain under her awn- 
ing most of the day, refusing to rest himself. 
The men chafed under his division of the ra- 
tions and cursed him roundly when he dealt 
out less water than usual ; therefore he dared 
not leave the girl to watch alone. 

Before noon the engineer was raving again. 
He shrieked at the top of his cracked voice 
for water ; but after a time both his voice and 
strength left him, and he could barely whis- 
per. Then he lay still a long time and Crane 
thought he had fallen asleep. Jim evidently 
thought so, too, for he lay down in the shadow 
of the sail for a nap. 

The midday sun beat down with awful in- 
tensity upon the sea. The survivors lay about 
the raft as dead men. A lone sea-bird came to 
a halt overhead, and looked down in wonder 
at the raft and its burden. Silence brooded 
over the sky and sea. The sea reflected upon 
its placid bosom the brazen arch above. 


ISO WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


Suddenly a shriek — a blood-chilling, shud- 
dering cry — brought the survivors to their 
feet. Crane had been half dozing at his post, 
and for an instant was unable to grasp the 
situation. 

Then he saw the mad engineer standing up- 
right upon the brink of the raft. His broken 
bonds were dangling from his wrists. With 
the cunning of the maniac he had appeared to 
sleep while he was in reality all the while 
working at the cord which held him. 

“See the water! It’s all about us — you are 
keeping me from it!” he cried, and even as 
Jim sprang to seize him he plunged into the 
sea. 

He did not sink deeply, and came to the 
surface almost immediately. Jim kicked off 
his canvas slippers and ran to the raft’s edge. 

“Don’t try it — remember the sharks!” 
shouted Crane, but the young fellow did not 
hesitate. 

“Stand by to fling us a line!” he said to the 
sailors behind him, and leaped after his mate. 
The others watched him as he struck out for 
the madman. In a few moments he reached 
him. 


THE CONSPIRACY 


151 


Jim seized poor Perkins by the collar. The 
maniac tried to fight him ofi, but he was 
weaker now, and Jim held on and began to 
tow him back toward the raft. 

“A line — fling us a line!” he shrilled, rising 
breast high in the water and waving his hand 
to those on the raft. 

“Quick, men! One of you fling him the 
end of that rope yonder,” Crane shouted, un- 
able to do so himself because of his wound. 

The men stood still and only looked at each 
other with lowering brows. 

“For God’s sake, men!” Crane repeated, 
“throw them the line! They’ll drown with- 
out.” 

“Two less at the grub and drink, then,” 
growled some one, and not a man among them 
moved. 

Suddenly there was a swish of water and 
something sped past the raft. Crane glanced 
off at the struggling men. From all directions 
the three-cornered, sinister looking fins cut 
the water toward them. They were doomed ! 

Jim evidently saw their danger, for he ut- 
tered another shout. Crane ran for the rope, 
determined to try to cast it despite his wound. 


152 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


And then, before one could speak or cry out, 
the tiger-like fish reached their prey. The 
sea was whipped to foam, the foam flecked 
with blood, and in a moment it was quiet 
again, while both fish and men had disap- 
peared. 

Crane heard a shriek from the other end 
of the raft. He looked in season to see Don 
Burke cast himself face downward on the 
planks. The others went back to their places 
without a word and Burke lay unnoticed. 

“We are no longer human,” thought Crane, 
and he made sure that his pistol was at hand. 

Slowly the blazing sun sank toward the 
horizon. As its last slanting rays touched the 
raft — the only floating object upon the vast 
plain of sea — the mutineers gathered in a 
group behind the barricade they had built. 
Crane could see their heads as they crowded 
together, conversing in whispers. 

He believed them on the verge of some 
piece of treachery. They were in a state of 
mind for almost any wickedness. He did not 
doubt that the conspiracy — ^whatever it might 
be — ^was aimed at Jessie and himself — all 
who were left on their end of the raft. Don 


THE CONSPIRACY 153 

Burke lay where he had fallen, but Lopez 
and Brown, the other passengers, had joined 
the mutineers. 

The sun dropped below the ocean’s rim and 
the light faded. Clouds which had gathered 
during the day now overcast the sky and not a 
star was visible. It grew rapidly darker until 
even objects on the raft were blotted out. 
Crane could not see the sail distinctly — only 
the gray outlines of its upper portion. 

By her low, regular breathing he knew Jes- 
sie was asleep. He crept to the boat and 
opened the box of signal lights, determined to 
have one ready for lighting the instant he 
heard anything of a suspicious nature. 

As he arose to his feet with the tube in his 
hand, he heard a faint noise at the stern of 
the raft behind the boat. He had not ex- 
pected danger from this direction. He darted 
around the boat. A figure was coming in 
over the stern, the water dripping from its 
head and shoulders. 

In a flash Crane drew out a match, and, 
scratching it on the boat, held it to the fuse of 
the signal-light. As the blaze flashed up there 


154 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

was a sudden exclamation from the man who 
had just drawn himself on to the raft. 

“Put it out — quick! For God’s sake, put 
it out!” he gasped, and by the flaring light 
Crane recognized the pallid face of Don 
Burke. 


CHAPTER XV 

THE DESERTION OF THE RAFT 

The match dropped from Crane’s hand and 
the Bengal light itself fell from his nerveless 
grasp and rolled unnoticed into the sea. 
Burke lay at his feet, gasping and choking. 

“How did you get here?” Crane asked, at 
length. 

“I crawled into the water and worked 
around the raft by holding to the edge. I 
can’t swim.” 

Crane thought of the sharks, but made no 
comment. 

“I couldn’t let it go on — no, I couldn’t,” 
whispered Burke, raising himself to a sitting 
posture. “I’d risk drowning — sharks — every- 
thing — before I’d let them carry out their 
plot.” 

“What is it?” asked Crane, quietly. He 
scarcely knew whether to trust this fellow or 
not. It might be part of a plot. 

“They are going to attack you to-night. 

155 


156 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


They’re desperate. They’re more devils than 
men 1” 

“Couldn’t Lopez and Brown and you keep 
’em back?” 

“Lopez and Brown are with them. Brown 
conceived the plan himself. I refused to have 
anything to do with it. They thought me too 
near dead to bother about.” 

“What is the plan?” 

“They are going to make a rush soon after 
midnight — perhaps before. They’ve drawn 
lots to see who shall head it. There are three 
who will crawl up as near as they can without 
your seeing them. They’ll make a rush to- 
gether, and though you may shoot down one 
or two, the others will have time to reach and 
disarm you. They will kill you and Miss 
Martell. They may do worse — heaven 
knows!” 

“Why do you come to tell me this?” asked 
Crane, suspiciously. 

“Great heavens, man! Could I stay there 
and see her murdered?” 

“Why not? You would have let her drown 
on the Red Arrow/* 

The other was silent a moment. “I suppose 


THE DESERTION OF THE RAFT 157 


you think me a coward,” he said, bitterly. 
“Perhaps I am. I — I can’t explain that af- 
fair on the steamer. I know I left Miss Mar- 
tell to be drowned; she’ll never forgive me 
for it, I suppose.” 

“Will you fight?” 

“Indeed I will, if they try to harm her.” 

“Umph! They say even a rat will fight 
when it’s cornered,” murmured Crane. 
“Well, there’s Perkins’ big knife.” He placed 
the weapon in Burke’s hand. “I’ve got a box 
of signal lights. I’ll give you one, and I’ll 
take one myself. If you hear a sound light 
yours.” 

“Are you going to stay here and fight 
them?” 

“Yes. I’ll bring Miss Martell behind the 
boat here. We’ll use it for a barricade ” 

Burke seized his arm. “Why not use it for 
what it was originally intended?” he whis- 
pered, hoarsely. “It is all right, isn’t it? It 
will float?” 

Crane caught his breath and stared into 
Grandon Burke’s face. They could barely 
see each other in the darkness. To desert the 
raft with its freight of human lives — devils in- 


158 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


carnate though the men might be ! — had never 
entered his thought. 

“Put the food and water into the boat and 
launch her,’’ whispered Burke. “We two can 
do it.” 

The shrewd mind of the fellow was thus 
betrayed. He was the true son of Simon 
Burke. 

“We have no right,” Crane murmured. 
“We only own our share of the food and 
water — though heaven knows there’s little 
enough remaining. The boat is the last resort 
for all — if there comes another storm and the 
raft breaks up.” 

“They’ll not leave much of that food and 
water, once they get the best of you,” declared 
Burke, bitterly. “I tell you they mean to do 
as they’ve planned. They’ll rush in on us and 
you can’t kill them all. Anyway, which is 
worse?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Is it worse to desert them and keep them 
from killing us, or to shoot them down like 
dogs — provided they’d let you?” Burke 
laughed bitterly. “Do the best you could with 
that pistol, you couldn’t kill more than half 


THE DESERTION OF THE RAFT 159 


of them. The others will settle you. And 
then — there’s Miss Martell! Think of her, 
man!” 

do,” groaned Crane. ^‘But have we the 
right to save ourselves at the expense of the 
others?” 

^ We’ve got the opportunity. That’s enough. 
Do you want to see her murdered?” 

Crane could not reply. He tried to think of 
some other way ; but there seemed to be none. 
He believed that Don Burke spoke the truth. 
It would be fatal to risk a fight with the mu- 
tineers. They were desperate enough to do 
anything to obtain possession of the food and 
water. 

‘‘Think of Miss Martell,” repeated Burke, 
harping on the one string he knew would in- 
fluence Crane. 

“Great heavens, I do!” the latter responded 
sharply. “I’d stay here and fight the whole 
gang myself ; but she must not be sacrificed.” 

“Good! What’ll be the first move?” 

“Keep still. You’ll have ’em down on us. 
Wait till I speak to her.” 

He crept around the boat and walked for- 
ward almost to the mast to make sure that 


160 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


none of the men had left their shelter. Satis- 
fied on this point, he went back to the awning 
and crept in beside the sleeping girl. 

‘^Miss Martell! Miss Martell!” he whis- 
pered. She did not stir, and he put out his 
hand and touched her. She slept deeply, and 
not until he had laid his palm upon her fore- 
head did she awake. 

She came to consciousness slowly. Her 
eyes opened and she grasped his wrist. 

‘‘Hush! Don’t be frightened. Miss Mar- 
tell,” he whispered. 

“I knew it was you,” she replied, dreamily. 
“I — I was dreaming of you.” 

Crane trembled, and the perspiration stood 
upon his forehead. It took every spark of 
self-control he possessed to fight down the pas- 
sion which filled his soul. 

“Why do you tremble?” she asked, rising 
upon her elbow, her face close to his. “It is 
not cold.” 

“I — I tremble for you. Miss,” he said 
hoarsely. 

“You are very good to me, Mr. Carter. I 
am not afraid when I know you are watch- 
ing.” 


THE DESERTION OF THE RAFT 161 

“But I am afraid for you,” he repeated. 
“The men mean to attack us to-night. To 
murder us for the food and water.” 

“Oh, Mr. Carter! You are not — not like 
poor Mr. Perkins?” she asked. 

“Sh! No, I am sane — as sane as a man can 
be after what has happened to us.” 

“How do you know this?” 

Crane hesitated the fraction of a moment. 
“Mr. Burke is here,” he said. “He heard 
their plot and has risked his life to warn us.” 
It took some exertion of will for him to say it. 

“Don Burke?” she repeated, incredulously. 

“Yes. These rascals have planned to make 
a rush about midnight.” 

“And will he and the other passengers be 
on our side?” 

“The other passengers are with the mu- 
tineers. Brown is their leader.” 

“What will you do?” she asked, her breast 
heaving. 

“Are you not frightened?” he demanded in 
wonder. 

“I think I am past that. We have been 
through so much. I trust in you, Mr. Carter.” 

His heart leaped at that. “We are going 


162 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


to launch the boat and get away in her if we 
can, before the mutineers guess what we are 
about. Come.” 

He raised the canvas curtain and helped 
her to rise. Then he looked for Grandon 
Burke. He found the young man still crouch- 
ing behind the boat. 

With great care they turned the craft over 
upon its keel, and then slid it into the water. 
It dropped with a slight splash. Don Burke 
scarcely raised his eyes to the girl, who stood 
silently by. 

There was a movement at the other end of 
the raft. A voice rang out in excited question, 
and then the new leader of the mutinous sea- 
men, Brown, shouted Burke’s name. 

“Quick! For heaven’s sake!” whispered 
Burke, shaking again. “Help her in here. 
Carter, and get in yourself 1” 

He had already leaped into the boat, which 
rolled a good deal and bumped against the 
raft. 

“Hold on, you fool!” exclaimed Crane. 
“We’ve not got the food and water. Miss 
Martell, hold on to this painter and keep the 
boat from floating away.” 


THE DESERTION OF THE RAFT 163 

He thrust the rope into Jessie’s hand and 
ran back for the breaker of water. Brown 
called to him and his voice sounded nearer. 

“Hey, Carter! what’s up?” he shouted. 
“Have you seen Mr. Burke? The poor fool’s 
jumped overboard, I believe.” 

“Whether he has or not, you stay back 
where you belong!” exclaimed Crane. 

Brown was silent a moment. Crane picked 
up the water breaker and hurried with it to 
the boat. 

“Get in,” he whispered to Jessie. “Get in 
and hold the boat against the edge of the raft.” 

She obeyed him, and he hurried back for 
the bread box — the only one remaining. As 
he stooped to seize it he caught the sound of 
whispering near him — where he could not 
tell. The mutineers might be all about him 
— might be between him and the boat! 

Quick as thought he pulled out his signal 
light and touched a match to it; then he threw 
it down upon the planks, seized the bread 
box, and ran. The light began to sputter and 
a pale green glow to spread. 

“Now, boys!” sounded Brown’s voice, and 
with a hoarse shout the mutineers charged. 


164 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


But Crane had found the boat. He tossed 
the bread box into it, and, leaping in himself, 
pushed off just as the growing light revealed 
the small boat with her freight to the group 
of murderous mutineers. The ghastly green 
light grew until it flooded sky and water. 
The raft and the boat seemed floating in a sea 
of emerald flame. 


CHAPTER XVI 

THE BLOT ON THE HORIZON 

The impetus Crane had given the lifeboat 
carried it a cable’s length from the raft. In 
the glow of the signal light the shouting, 
cursing men they had deserted looked like 
creatures of another world. Their voices 
were hoarse and cracked and they shook their 
clenched fists and cursed those in the boat for 
leaving them. But Crane, knowing the red 
murder which lurked in their hearts, was 
unmoved by either their pleadings or their 
maledictions. 

He turned to take the oars, intending to get 
the boat away that Miss Martell might not 
hear the enraged mutineers. And then he 
made a discovery that filled him with disgust, 
if not with apprehension. There was not an 
oar in the boat! He made known the over- 
sight to his companions. 

*‘You should have looked out for the oars, 
Mr. Burke,” he said sharply. “I had the wa- 
ter and food to attend to.” 

i6s 


166 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

‘‘I didn’t know anything about them,” was 
the helpless reply. 

“You should have thought,” was Crane’s 
rejoinder. “Instead of helping me after the 
boat was launched you gave us another ex- 
hibition of your cowardice by jumping into 
her.” 

“I only got in to steady the boat for Miss 

Martell ” began Burke, but the other cut 

him short. 

“You lying hound!” he exclaimed. “Your 
cowardice can’t be hidden.” 

“How dare you?” cried Burke, his face 
aflame. “Do you suppose I will submit to 
more insults from you? Why, you low vaga- 
bond — a convict, for all I know. A fellow 
who would be mean enough to stow himself 
away on a steamer to beat her owners out of 
passage money 

“That doesn’t trouble me in the least,” 
muttered Crane, with wrathful face. “Mar- 
tell & Burke owe me that” 

He stopped, remembering that Jessie was 
by; but neither she nor Burke noticed his 
words. 

“Even that firearm you keep your hand 


THE BLOT ON THE HORIZON 167 


upon won’t save you if you call me a liar.” 
Burke shook his clenched hand in Crane’s 
face, his own passion inflamed. “You have 
bullied and driven those men yonder, but you 
shan’t bully me!” 

Crane laughed. “Don’t make a fool of 
yourself, Burke,” he said carelessly. “If I 
hadn’t bullied them you wouldn’t be alive in 
this boat at the present time.” 

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! I beg of you!” 
cried Jessie, clasping her hands. “Do not 
quarrel. We are too near death, perhaps. It 
does not matter.” 

“I’ll not allow a low fellow like him to 
malign me,” grumbled Don Burke, lying 
back in the boat’s bottom. 

“Remember, Mr. Carter, Mr. Burke has 
just saved our lives,” Jessie said, bent upon 
restoring harmony. 

“And his own,” added Crane briefly. But 
he turned away from them with a shrug of his 
shoulders and said no more. 

The light soon died out on the raft. Crane 
wrenched off a seat and paddled the lifeboat 
farther from the mutineers. Then he made a 
couch for Jessie in the bottom of the craft, 


168 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


using for a coverlid the piece of torn sailcloth 
she had had for an awning on the raft, and 
then waited with such patience as he could 
command for daylight. 

Once he heard a faint splashing and low 
voices from the direction of the raft, but after 
a time it ceased. Not until morning could he 
explain what he had heard. Then he saw 
that the mutineers had ripped planks from 
the deckhouse and tried to paddle the raft 
near the lifeboat. Crane at once propelled 
the little craft farther away. During that 
seemingly endless day the fitful ocean cur- 
rents carried them still farther apart. 

They had but a handful of crackers left. 
The last of the meat had been used the day 
before. The water was low in the breaker, 
scarcely half a pint remaining. 

Crane did not allow a drop of the precious 
fluid to pass his swollen and cracked lips dur- 
ing the day, and by his advice Jessie wet a bit 
of linen in hers and sucked the moisture from 
the rag instead of actually drinking the water. 

“I know it isn’t much, but it is something,” 
said Crane kindly. 

^‘But what will you do?” she queried. 


THE BLOT ON THE HORIZON 169 


“Oh, don’t mind me,” he answered briefly. 

The heat was terrible. They suffered more 
than they had upon the raft, because their 
quarters were so cramped. Crane occupied 
the stern of the boat. He spread the awning 
amidships for Jessie’s shelter. Don Burke 
lay face downward in the bow most of the 
day, but at night he aroused himself suffi- 
ciently to ask for food. Crane passed him 
two biscuits. 

“Can’t I have more?” pleaded the man. 

“No. Two is the limit.” 

“But, see here ” 

“I won’t argue,” interrupted Crane. And 
then Burke ate the biscuits greedily. 

Neither Jessie nor Crane could eat. Burke 
seemed much stronger than his companions, 
and there was such a wolfish glare in his eyes 
that Crane changed places with the girl that 
night so as to bring himself between her and 
the other. Crane was so weak that he could 
scarcely crawl, but he clung to the pistol. 
That would defend her. 

He had not tasted a drop of water for more 
than twenty-four hours, and was almost past 
speech. He had not closed his eyes in sleep 


170 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


for a longer period than that, but he was past 
sleep. He felt that when next he lost con- 
sciousness it would be for eternity. 

He lay gazing into Jessie’s face as long as 
the light lasted. Then, when darkness had 
settled upon the sea, he heard a little move- 
ment in the stern. The girl crept painfully to 
him. He put out his hand and met hers, and 
she clutched at his desperately. 

“I am afraid!” she whispered, her weak 
voice hardly audible. “Let me know you are 
here, Mr. Carter.” 

And then Wilbur Crane performed the 
greatest act of heroism of that awful time. 
Carefully he drew from inside his shirt a 
small flat flask, in the bottom of which were 
a few drops of spirits. In his own can was 
perhaps half a cup of water. It was the last 
in the boat. Don Burke had drunk his share 
an hour before, and as careful as Jessie had 
been her share, too, was gone. 

Crane added the spirits to the water, and 
with shaking hand held the can to the girl’s 
lips. But she motioned it away. 

“You,” she whispered. 

He hesitated and then, as though acqui- 


THE M.OT ON THE HORIZON 171 


escing, put the can to his own mouth. He 
trembled in every limb. Great heavens ! how 
he wanted that thirst-quenching, life-inspir- 
ing draught! 

But not a drop did he swallow. He handed 
the can back, whispering, guess — I drank 
— more than — my share.” He sank down in 
the boat’s bottom, while Jessie allowed the 
spirits and water to trickle down her throat. 
Then she lay down and searched again for 
the comfort of his hand. 

When morning dawned over the calm sea 
the three figures in the small boat were just 
as they had been all night — two together in 
the stern, the other in the bow. 

The latter raised his head as the light grew. 
He saw the man and girl lying with hands 
clasped. An evil light came into his eyes. 
He raised himself on his elbow and drew his 
body painfully toward them. 

Suddenly he stopped. Something far down 
upon the horizon attracted his attention. He 
looked again and uttered a feeble cry. It was 
a dark blot which rapidly grew and grew 
upon his vision. It was the smoke of a steam- 
ship. 


172 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


He got upon his knees and shaded his eyes 
with his hand. The blot along the sea-line, 
and then, after a time, the steamer itself ap- 
peared. He seized the broken seat Crane 
had used for a paddle, tied his handkerchief 
to it and waved it weakly. 

Two hours passed, and the steamer was 
near by. His signal was seen. A boat was 
lowered and came chugging and dashing over 
the waves. He turned his eyes toward the 
raft, now nearly a mile away, and was aston- 
ished to see a ship bearing down upon it, 
under full sail. A boat was lowered from 
that, too. He wondered if he was going mad 
and these two ships were the products of his 
diseased imagination. 

The motorboat drew nearer. 

“Ahoy!” shouted the sailor in the bow. 
“Keep up, messmate!” Burke could only 
wave his hand. 

The steamer’s boat was beside him. Then 
the rescuers saw the two figures huddled in the 
stern. They lifted Don Burke into their boat 
first. 

“Save the girl. The man’s dead,” he whis- 
pered; but when they came to lift her out. 


THE BLOT ON THE HORIZON 173 


her hand was locked so tightly in that of her 
companion that he was taken too. 

The boat from the other ship had reached 
the raft, and soon both rescuing parties re- 
turned to their respective vessels, and, after 
exchanging signals, the windjammer and the 
steamship continued on their separate courses. 


CHAPTER XVII 

SIMON BURKE IS STRANGELY AGITATED 

Simon Burke, of Martell & Burke, could 
not be called a demonstrative man. Such 
warmth of nature as he might have originally 
possessed had been killed by a long course of 
repression. Inasmuch as his better qualities 
had sunk beneath the surface, their opposites 
had risen. But with all his sharpness and 
greed he was, because of his connection with 
William Martell, considered passably honest. 

By the rule that every man is honest until 
he is caught in some dishonesty, the junior 
partner of the firm was honest. He was too 
shrewd a man to be caught and he had spent 
a good deal of care and thought in bringing 
up his son Grandon in his worldly-wise way. 
He wanted Grandon to be a shrewder, smarter 
man than he was himself, and it must be ad- 
mitted that, in certain ways, his son had amply 
fulfilled his expectations. 

In fact, there had come a time when the 
174 


SIMON BURKE IS AGITATED 175 

elder Burke had been quite startled to see 
how nearly his son followed his example. 

This incident had occurred at about the 
closing of Don’s college career. Mr. Martell, 
and the world at large, had been informed 
that Don had left college for the express pur- 
pose of entering business life. The senior 
partner had warmly welcomed him to the 
counting room of Martell & Burke. 

But father and son had come nearer quar- 
reling on that occasion than at any other time 
in their lives. There were some heavy debts 
— stern reminders of Don’s college days — 
which Simon Burke refused to pay. The 
creditors pressed their suits; the father re- 
mained obdurate. 

And then, of a sudden, they were paid. It 
made the junior partner tremble even to guess 
how the money had been obtained. Some- 
times he chuckled grimly to himself and 
rubbed his hands when he thought how the 
boy had overreached him. Yet he trembled, 
too. The possibility of the truth coming to 
light hung over him like a cloud. He never 
trembled for his own sins ; but for Don’s 

If it were possible for Simon Burke to love. 


176 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

he loved Don. Everything he did was done 
with Don in mind. Some day it would all be 
his — his interest in the old shipping firm, 
and all the little outside speculations in which 
Burke dabbled. 

He was not particular that Don should 
marry. Marriage in his own case had been 
an irksome bond for the few years his wife 
had lived. But if the boy was to marry some 
day, he was well satisfied that he had set his 
heart on Jessie Martell. That would in time 
bring the affairs of the firm solely under 
Don’s control. 

Burke was not entirely pleased to have Don 
take the trip south with Jessie and her aunt. 
He wanted the young man near himself. It 
made him anxious; he spent sleepless nights 
and anxious days while Don was away; it was 
so far to Buenos Aires; and so many things 
are liable to happen to a ship at sea. Still, 
the Red Arrow was a staunch steamer — one 
of Martell & Burke’s own. He need have 
little fear for Don’s safety aboard her. 

Yet he watched daily for news from the 
steamship. Ten days after she sailed she 
was reported by an incoming bark as having 


SIMON BURKE IS AGITATED 177 


been spoken when five days from port. He 
was glad to hear this, but he was just then 
very busy in getting one of his own steamers 
to sea — the Fedora, She was an old vessel, 
but was rated well by the underwriters, and 
according to her bills of lading carried quite 
a valuable cargo consigned to merchants at 
Valparaiso. She was insured accordingly. 

When she had sailed, her owner watched 
the papers for reports of the two steamers. 

The days slipped slowly by; they became 
weeks ; according to the reckoning of the two 
anxious men in the Boston office, the Red 
Arrow should have reached her destination. 
They might get news of her any day. 

Martell showed his anxiety more plainly 
than his partner. He had not been separated 
for so long a time from his daughter since her 
mother’s death. He was really quite unfitted 
for business, although there was not the slight- 
est reason for apprehension. The Red Ar- 
row was a stout ship and Captain Grayves a 
good seaman. 

One noon Martell came in from lunch with 
a paper in his hand and so white a face that 
the clerks were frightened. 


178 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


‘^Mr. Burke — where is he?” he asked, in a 
shaken voice. 

^‘In his office, Mr. Martell.” 

The senior partner hurried to the room. 
Simon Burke was at his desk deep in a cal- 
culation drawn from several papers lying be- 
fore him. The papers were duplicates of the 
bills of lading and other papers of the Fedora, 
and he was engaged in that pleasurable task 
known as “counting one’s chickens before 
they are hatched.” 

He looked up with a satisfied smile upon 
his deeply lined face as his partner entered. 

“What’s the matter?” he demanded, seeing 
the other’s disturbed countenance. “What 
have you got there?” 

“It — it’s a New York paper,” replied Mar- 
tell, looking at him strangely. 

“What about it? Something’s the matter, 
Martell!” exclaimed Burke testily. 

“There is something the matter,” responded 
the senior partner, sitting down heavily in a 
chair. “But don’t be frightened, Simon. 
They are safe now.” 

“Who are safe?” he cried, and snatched the 
paper from Martell’s hand. He glanced 


SIMON BURKE IS AGITATED 179 


swiftly at the first page. There, staring at 
him from the printed column, were these 
headlines : 

TWELVE DAYS ON A RAFT! 
Terrible Suffering of Survivors of the 
Steamer Red Arrow 


Her Passengers and Crew Rescued After 
Being for Days in Open Boats and 
Upon a Raft. Awful Suffer- 
ing from Starvation and 
Thirst. 

The paper fell from Simon Burke’s hand. 
He sank back in his chair. 

“Hold on! hold on!” exclaimed his part- 
ner, seizing the paper. “It’s not as bad as it 
looks — it really isn’t. They have had a most 
dreadful time. But Jessie, Don and my sis- 
ter are' all safe. Let me read it to you.” 

He smoothed out the sheet and began : 

“News has just arrived from Bahia, Brazil, 
by way of Havana, of the loss of the steamer 
Red Arrow, of Boston, and the rescue of most 


180 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


of her passengers and crew. The steamer 
was wrecked in mid-ocean something like a 
month ago — our informant does not give the 
exact date. The steamer had been pounded 
by a gale for days, and finally the heavy seas 
which boarded her put out the fires and she 
became unmanageable. Captain Grayves 
had the seamen under admirable control ; but 
the firemen stampeded and launched a boat 
for themselves. This boat never left the Red 
Arrow's side. It was swamped and all in it 
lost. 

^^Four other boats got away from the sink- 
ing steamer safely; but one was found to be 
leaking and a part of her crew were trans- 
ferred to the purser’s boat. The purser’s and 
the captain’s boats kept together and four 
days later were picked up by the coasting 
steamer Salvador and brought to Belmonte, 
Brazil, from which point the government sent 
them to Bahia. In Captain Grayves’ boat 
was the sister of William Martell, one of the 
Red Arrow's owners. Mr. Martell’s daugh- 
ter and his partner’s son, Mr. Grandon Burke, 
were also on the passenger list; but they were 
in the other boats, and for some days were 


SIMON BURKE IS AGITATED 181 

given up as lost. Shortly after Captain 
Grayves and his party reached Bahia, how- 
ever, arrived the ship Lida, with the bulk of 
the missing ship’s company aboard. 

“Their story is one of the most fearful 
suffering, and they are still so weak that it is 
impossible to get the details for publication 
at present. Half of the seamen were taken 
at once to the hospital. The leaking boat had 
to be abandoned and for twelve days they 
drifted on a raft. The officer in command, 
the engineer and his assistant, and two sea- 
men, succumbed to the hardships and were 
buried from the raft. When the Lida sighted 
them there was not a drop of water or crumb 
of food remaining.” 

“But Don and — your daughter — what 
about them?” demanded Simon Burke, his 
voice hoarse, his face fairly ashen. “Are they 
safe?” 

“Yes, yes,” returned Martell. “I told you 
they were.” 

“It says nothing about them there,” said 
Burke, wetting his dry lips with his tongue. 


182 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


‘^Let me read you the remainder,” said his 
partner. 

“At the time the survivors of the raft were 
taken off, the fourth boat from the Red Ar- 
row — a small lifeboat — was floating about a 
mile from the raft. In it were Mr. Burke, 
Miss Martell, the son and daughter of the 
owners of the wrecked steamer, and a seaman, 
or fireman, named Carter. While the Lida 
was rescuing those on the raft, a steamship 
sighted the small boat and hastened to take 
aboard those on her. She signaled to the 
Lida that all three were alive and then went 
on her way. The commander of the Lida 
made her out to be the Fedora, of Boston.” 

“What?” Simon Burke started from his 
chair. A great wave of color surged into his 
face and then receded, leaving it like gray 
wax. His eyes seemed fairly to protrude 
from his head, and his lower jaw dropped 
weakly. 

“What’s the trouble with you, man?” cried 
Martell, slapping him on the back. “It’s all 
right. They’re safe. It’s your own steamer. 


SIMON BURKE IS AGITATED 183 


you know — the Fedora, bound for Valpa- 
raiso.” 

Simon Burke seized the paper from his 
partner’s hand, and with trembling finger 
sought the paragraph. There it was! There 
could be no mistake! ^^The Fedora, of Bos- 
ton.” 

He dropped back into his chair. He let his 
arms fall upon the desk, blurring the nicely 
penned calculations in which he had been 
recently engaged. His head sank upon his 
extended arms and his whole body shook with 
the terror which possessed him, while his 
partner looked on in wonder. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

JEALOUSY 

Jessie Martell came very slowly to a re- 
alization of her surroundings. She found her- 
self in a roomy cabin — a much better one than 
she had occupied aboard the Red Arrow — 
and sitting beside her bed was a reassuring 
looking negro woman, her hands busy with 
some work in her lap and her head enveloped 
in a red and yellow turban. 

This bit of brilliant color in the otherwise 
darkened apartment attracted Jessie’s wan- 
dering gaze first of all. She lay and looked 
at it; then from it to the woman herself. 

It seemed to the girl that it had been many 
weeks since she had seen another woman. 
Black as this one was, she could have hugged 
her heartily. 

“Where am I?” she finally asked aloud, 
and her own voice sounded unnatural to her. 

“Lawsy-me!” exclaimed the woman, pop- 
ping up like a very corpulent jack-in-the-box. 

184 


JEALOUSY 185 

“Is you speakin’, honey? Why, you’s lookin’ 
quite bright, Miss. Bress de Lord!” 

“Where am I?” repeated Jessie. 

“You is all safe, honey.” 

“And the raft ” 

“Dey’s all been save, honey. Lawsy-me! 
Dat was a dre’ful sperience for a young lady 
la’k yo’, for sure. But you’s all right now.” 

'^All saved?” repeated the girl, scarcely 
comprehending it. “Mr. Carter ” 

“Guess yo’ means Mr. Burke, honey. 
Yes’m, he’s safe, too,” interrupted the voluble 
woman. “Lawsy-me! he’s jes’ been hangin’ 
’bout dat’ do’ yonder, all to-day, an’ yest’- 
day ” 

“To-day — yesterday?” cried Jessie, raising 
her head. “How long have I been here?” 

“We picked yo’ up t’ree days ago, Missie,” 
the negress told her. “Jes’ at daylight, it was. 
De lookout sighted yo’, an’ w’ile our boat was 
a-takin’ you an’ de oders out o’ de boat, anoder 
ship sails up an’ tends to dem folks on de raf’.” 

“But Mr. Carter?” again asked Jessie. 

“Carter, honey?” repeated the woman 
doubtfully. “Does yo’ mean dat sailor-man 
wot was wid yo’ an’ Mr. Burke? He’s all 


186 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


right, I reckon. He’s fo’ward wid de men. 
But Mr. Burke, honey — Lawsy-me! he been 
jes’ nigh about crazy ’bout yo’. He ain’t give 
me no peace ’tall, fur bangin’ roun’ an’ axin’ 
after you. An’ it jes’ de cur’ousest thing, 
Missie,” the woman went on, ‘^dat yo’ should 
be picked up by dis yere steamer what Mr. 
Burke’s father owns ” 

“What steamer?” interposed Jessie, grad- 
ually getting some control of her mental 
faculties. 

“Why, dis is de Fedora, out o’ Boston.” 

“The Fedora!'' exclaimed Jessie. “Why, 
it is Mr. Burke’s steamer that w^^ going to 
Valparaiso.” 

“Yes, honey — da is where she goin’.” 

“But he told my father that there were no 
accommodations for passengers on the 
Fedora, or I should have waited to sail in 
her,” murmured Jessie in surprise. “I wanted 
to go to Valparaiso myself.” 

“No ’commodations fo’ passengers!” ex- 
claimed the woman, in vast disgust. “W’y, 
de Fedora alius carry passengers, ef she ain’t 
one ob dese new-fangled steel steamers. I’s 
sailed wid her — ’nd so’s Jim — ^Jim Croly, he’s 


JEALOUSY 


187 


my man, an’ he’s de steward — w’en she belong 
to de Blue Anchor Line, ’fore eber Mr. 
Burke buy her.” 

“This is a better cabin than I had on the 
Red Arrow/^ 

“Course ’tis, Missie. Lawsy-me! dey 
neber leabs any room in dem new-fangled 
steamers fo’ cabins. Yit folks will go in ’em 
’ca’se deys quicker’n oders, an’ look smarter, 
but I don’ beliebe dey is any better nor safer. 
But I reckon, Missie,” pursued the stew- 
ardess after a moment, “dat de reason Mr. 
Burke didn’t t’ink dis yere was good ’nough 
for yo’ was ’ca’se he t’ink so much of yo’. 
He been axin’ arter you ” 

“I do not mean this Mr. Burke,” inter- 
rupted Jessie quickly. “It was his father.” 

“Lawsy-me! I dunno w’y he wants to talk 
dat way fo’ 1” cried the woman, who was evi- 
dently very jealous of the good name of the 
craft in which she had sailed so long. “He 
ought to be a-speakin’ up fo’ hees own ship.” 

“Perhaps the cabins are full,” said the 
girl. “Did I turn out anybody?” 

“Cabins full!” exclaimed the stewardess. 
“Lawsy-me! dare ain’t a passenger aboard, dis 


188 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

yere trip, nohow. Dere ain’t no use o’ me 
bein’ here, only Jim’s here an’ I alius sticks 
by him.” 

Jessie paid little attention to the woman’s 
chattering. She lay in her berth for the re- 
mainder of the day. Once Don Burke came 
to the door and asked how she was, but she 
kept her eyes closed, so that the stewardess 
might believe her asleep until after he had 
gone. 

The commander of the Fedora, a little, con- 
sequential man named Robinson, called dur- 
ing the evening and assured her of his delight 
in seeing her so much improved. The purser, 
who was likewise the physician, came and told 
her she could get up whenever she pleased 
and go on deck, only to be careful how she ate 
at first. He also brought the compliments 
and good wishes of the Fedora's subordinate 
officers. 

“Tell them they are very kind, I am sure,” 
she replied. “I feel so much better. And I 
am very glad to be safe aboard the Fedora, 
when I had almost given up hope.” 

“I should think you would have given up, 
Miss Martell!” exclaimed the purser, who 


JEALOUSY 


189 


was a young man and boyish. “By Jove! it 
was plucky for a woman. Mr. Burke says 
you held out with the best.” 

“Yes,” Jessie said, passing over Burke’s 
name unnoticed and speaking with hesitation. 
“And Mr. Carter? How is he?” 

“Mr. Carter? Oh, the fellow who was 
with you and Mr. Burke!” repeated the 
purser, with just a shade of surprise in his 
tone. “He’s pulling out nicely.” 

“Yes?” 

“He was pretty far gone when we took you 
off the boat. But he was on deck the next 
day. He was a stoker, wasn’t he?” 

“He was the man who kept order on the 
raft and saved all our lives,” Jessie replied 
warmly. 

“Is that so?” exclaimed the purser, and he 
stared at his patient curiously. “But now. 
Miss Martell, as your physician,” and he 
laughed, “I must prescribe a long night’s rest 
for you.” 

He departed ; and Jessie fell asleep at once. 

Grandon Burke was by far the strongest 
of the three castaways that the Fedora res- 
cued. Crane was, despite his confinement 


190 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


in the penitentiary, naturally much more 
rugged than Don, but he had deprived him- 
self continually for Jessie’s good, whereas 
Burke had eaten his full share of the rations 
and drunk the water dealt out to him with- 
out question. 

In spite of all that had occurred — the 
privations and anxieties which should have 
bound together two men placed as they were 
— Burke had learned to hate the other with 
all the strength of his jealous nature. In 
their terrible extremity, when the appearance 
of the Fedora had barely saved them from 
death, black rage filled Burke’s heart as he 
saw Crane and Jessie lying with clasped 
hands. 

“Save the girl. The man’s dead,” he had 
whispered, and if ever murder lurked in a 
man’s soul, it lurked in his at that moment 1 

Crane did look like a dead man. There 
was no perceptible flutter of the heart, nor 
could the rescuers see that he breathed. But 
Jessie’s hand was so tightly clasping his that 
they could not easily part them. That hand- 
clasp, perhaps, saved Crane’s life. 

“Who is he?” Captain Robinson had asked 


JEALOUSY 


191 


of Burke, and when he learned that the man 
was a stoker, he was sent forward to the 
crew’s quarters. But he had the best of care, 
and the next day was helped up and lay about 
on the deck of the forecastle, treated with the 
utmost kindness by the rough fellows who 
were his messmates. 

Burke, of course, was welcomed very 
warmly by the captain and officers of the 
Fedora, Immediately upon being brought 
aboard and his identity becoming known, he 
was put to bed in the commander’s own cabin, 
that being the best one in the steamer. Cap- 
tain Robinson was delighted to assist the son 
of his employer. 

Burke was up for dinner that night and 
met the officers at table. Besides the captain 
and the purser, there was first officer Cart- 
wright and second officer Pawlin. The latter 
looked rather out of place at the saloon table, 
for whatever his qualities as seaman and navi- 
gator might be, he was certainly not used to 
polite society. He was a sturdy, mahogany- 
faced man, with a rumbling bass voice. 

In relating their experience on the raft, 
Burke touched very lightly upon the mutiny 


192 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


and upon Crane’s part in keeping the men in 
subjection. He knew that, however he told 
it, his own connection with the mutiny, except 
at the last, would not sound well. 

He had watched, the intimacy between the 
girl he loved — for with all his pitiful display 
of cowardice, Burke did love Jessie — and the 
supposed Carter with the keenest jealousy. 

Burke recognized the fact that the stow- 
away’s true station in life was not that of a 
stoker, nor yet a common seaman. His hands, 
though toil-hardened, were well shaped and 
the tapering nails well cared for. His lan- 
guage showed an education above his appar- 
ent level. Sometimes Burke caught an ex- 
pression in his face which puzzled him ex- 
tremely — it was so like a face he had seen 
somewhere before. 

Feeling as he did toward Crane, it gave 
Burke a good deal of satisfaction to have him 
sent forward to the forecastle when they were 
aboard the Fedora, He assured Captain 
Robinson that Crane had been merely a 
stoker on the Red Arrow, and made no men- 
tion of the part he had played upon the raft. 
The captain was a stickler for ‘^quarter-deck 


JEALOUSY 


193 


etiquette,” and Burke was confident that 
Crane would remain forward for the rest of 
the voyage. That would put a stop to all 
further intimacy between him and Jessie, and 
he determined meanwhile to recover his own 
standing with her if possible. 

The second day after their rescue, Burke 
went up on deck. Crane already occupied a 
cot on the forecastle. They looked at one an- 
other coldly, but neither spoke. 

Burke walked slowly forward. Just as he 
was passing the forecastle, a man came along 
from the bows. He was a lean, sharp-faced 
man with a shifting eye, and he glanced 
keenly into Burke’s countenance as he passed 
him. The latter looked at him twice; then 
started perceptibly. His face paled a trifle 
and he halted in his walk. 

“Good day, guv’nor,” said the man, pulling 
his forelock. 

“Is it you?” queried Burke, huskily. 

“That’s who it is, sir. I didn’t know as 
you’d remember me with my beard off.” 

“Benny, isn’t it?” 

“Benny Mace, sir.” 

“What are you doing aboard the Fedora?** 


194 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

^Tm a sailor, sir. Tain’t such pay as I got 
once, sir; but them sort o’ jobs don’t come my 
way ev’ry day.” 

“No,” said Burke, appearing to take no 
offense at the man’s familiarity. 

“Let’s see; whatever become o’ that chap, 
sir? Got five years, didn’t he?” 

“Sh!” Burke glanced around sharply. 
“Don’t talk here. I’ll see you again if you’ve 
got anything to say to me,” he added and went 
on. 

He did not glance up at the face of the man 
on the cot. Had he done so he would have 
been surprised, not to say startled, at the emo- 
tion displayed thereon. 

But he paid little attention after all to 
Crane. He had succeeded in separating the 
stowaway from Jessie Martell by the great 
gulf which custom has fixed between the fore- 
castle and the cabin. Before she was well 
enough to be on deck, Crane was able to leave 
his cot and busy himself with light jobs about 
the steamer. 

Could Don Burke have had his way, he 
would have had the man he so thoroughly dis- 
liked sent into the stoke-hole with the Italian 


JEALOUSY 


195 


firemen; but the doctor purser vetoed that. 
The latter not only knew that such work, after 
his terrible experience on the raft, might have 
a serious effect on Crane, but he likewise re- 
membered what Jessie had said about the 
important part the stowaway had taken on 
the raft. He was sharp enough to see that 
Burke did not love Crane, and the purser 
thought he knew why. But, although he was 
unable to do Wilbur Crane further harm for 
the time being, Don Burke believed there was 
a chance for him to regain his lost place in 
the girl’s estimation. 

Jessie did not understand why, after what 
had occurred. Crane should neglect her. He 
scarcely raised his eyes to hers when they met 
on deck, and passed her hurriedly with a 
bow, as though he feared she would speak to 
him. 

She thought of all that had passed between 
them on the raft — of how she had leaned on 
him and looked on him almost as a brother, 
and she felt hurt that he did not ask about her 
— did not seem to give her a thought, now 
that they had reached safety. Somehow she 


196 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


cared more for the good opinion of this stoker 
than she wished to admit to herself. 

She treated Burke with careless indiffer- 
ence most of the time, which froze into cold 
hauteur whenever he tried to resume his 
former intimacy. But as long as he refrained 
from suggesting, by manner or word, the fact 
that they had been an affianced couple, he got 
on very well with her. 

Believing Crane to be a primal cause in 
this indifference, Burke hated him more than 
ever and took counsel in his own heart how he 
might get rid of the man he hated. 


CHAPTER XIX 

UNMASKED 

Wilbur Crane was startled when he dis- 
covered that the Fedora was the property of 
Simon Burke and that Orrin Pawlin was an 
officer aboard her. All the suspicions he had 
first entertained regarding the Red Arrow 
were rearoused. Here at last was the 
steamer and the man — the steamer wholly be- 
longing to Burke, and with Pawlin, his hired 
minion, aboard. And, by a strange chance, 
as it seemed, Jessie Martell was on the 
steamer at last. 

Crane had stowed himself away aboard the 
Red Arrow with the chivalrous intention of 
shielding the girl from possible harm. The 
danger had been greater than he had 
dreamed, though it was not of the nature he 
had expected. But now the doubts and sus- 
picions which had at first inspired him to ac- 
company her to sea returned. Was the 
Fedora fated to founder in mid-ocean also? 

197 


198 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


If PawHn had entered into an agreement 
with Simon Burke that the steamer should 
never reach port, would he keep to his agree- 
ment now that the owner’s son and Miss Mar- 
tell were aboard? 

Crane was torn by doubt. Had Jessie not 
been there he would have let affairs take their 
course and simply watched Pawlin until he 
caught him at his nefarious work, whatever it 
was. But the girl’s danger worried him. He 
thought of going to the captain and warning 
him ; but he dared not do that without being 
able to offer some more tangible testimony 
than his own unsupported word. 

He recognized a member of his own watch 
as the man Benny, whom Pawlin had talked 
with in the North Square eating saloon; but 
he was not prepared to find that Grandon 
Burke and this man were acquaintances. He 
lay within earshot at the time of the meeting 
between Burke and Pawlin’s partner, and the 
words they had let drop astonished him and 
gave color to certain ugly suspicions which 
he had long had in his mind. 

Crane had not recognized Benny as a 
former acquaintance; but after overhearing 
his brief conversation with Burke, he sought 


UNMASKED 


199 


to place the man in his proper niche in his 
memory. Benny had said to Grandon Burke : 
“I didn’t know as you would remember me 
with my beard off.” So he tried to picture 
the man with a beard, and then was not long 
in placing him. 

He had seen the fellow just once before. 
Benny Mace had appeared at his trial for 
forgery and had positively sworn to Crane 
as being the drawer of the check for two thou- 
sand dollars to which the forged signature of 
Martell & Burke was affixed. At that time 
Mace had figured as the proprietor of a re- 
sort on North Street, of no savory reputa- 
tion. That Crane was supposed to be an 
habitue of Mace’s resort had without doubt 
influenced the jury against the accused man. 

After witnessing the meeting between 
Burke and the man. Crane kept close to Mace, 
who was in his watch, and one night after 
seeking him in the seamen’s and stokers’ quar- 
ters, he descended into the steerage. The 
place was dimly lighted, but he heard voices 
in the gloom, and, recognizing Orrin Paw- 
lin’s heavy tones, crept forward until he was 
within earshot. The mate and Benny Mace 


200 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


were sitting upon a coil of cable sociably 
smoking their pipes. 

“Don’t get chicken-hearted,” were the first 
words he heard the mate utter. “We’ve got 
well along in the work now, and I’d finish it 
if the devil himself was aboard.” 

“The devil could look after himself,” re- 
turned Benny. “But that girl ” 

“Drat the girl 1” growled Pawlin. “D’you 
s’pose I’m goin’ to let her interfere with my 
plans?” 

“But this here Don Burke is soft on her. 
There’ll be the Old Nick to pay if you — if 


“Pooh! don’t be mealy-mouthed, Benny,” 
exclaimed the other. “Spit it out! If we 
sink the steamer, you mean.” 

“Sh! Yes.” 

“Nobody’s below here! Well, there’ll be 
the Old Nick to pay if we don’t sink her.” 

“But it will put young Burke in danger — 
and the girl, too. Old Burke will be wild.” 

“He’ll be wild if we don’t do it. I know 
the sort of a cargo we’re carryin’,” said Paw- 
lin, with a chuckle. “I know if it ever reaches 


UNMASKED 201 

port and the consignees get hold of it, it will 
be all up with Simon Burke, Esquire.” 

“Then the old Fedora's really got to go?” 

“Surest thing you know. I’ll fix it so’t 
there’ll be no danger. Now you keep your 
eye peeled while I drop down below and 
finish the job.” 

He arose and knocked the ashes from his 
pipe, and, picking up a bundle of tools, 
quickly opened and descended a small hatch- 
way, or manhole, into the hold. Crane 
wanted to follow him, but Benny still sat on 
the cable, and he could not pass him. 

Pawlin was gone nearly two hours. When 
he again appeared his face was ashen and 
his clothing saturated with sea-water. His 
hands trembled as he came up the ladder so 
that he could not hold his lantern steady. 

“What’s the matter?” gasped Benny Mace, 
letting his pipe fall to the deck. 

“It come darn near gettin’ away from me,” 
replied the other. “That last one, I mean. 
I didn’t have but one plug that was big 
enough. You made ’em too small, you blamed 
idiot!” 

“I made ’em as big as you told me!” 


202 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

“Well, I swear I thought I’d be drowned 
before I could drive it into the hole. If the 
old man takes it into his head to sound the 
pumps he’ll find considerable water in the 
well.” 

“I keep tellin’ you it’s a blame dangerous 
thing to do,” declared Benny. 

“Well, the job’s finished. They’re all 
ready,” said Pawlin, with satisfaction and re- 
lief. Let’s get out o’ here. I wanter go and 
change my duds before the watch is called.” 

Crane hurried back to the forecastle, his 
presence unsuspected by the plotters. But 
what he could do to make Pawlin give up his 
nefarious scheme, and save the steamer from 
disaster he did not know. 

He revolved the matter in his mind while 
he lay tossing in his berth, and when the watch 
was called and he knew that Pawlin would 
be busy and saw Mace established at the 
wheel, he crept into the steerage. He lit the 
lantern Pawlin had used, and descended into 
the hold. 

There was no longitudinal bulkhead in the 
Fedora, although there were substantial trans- 
verse partitions. He found himself in that 


UNMASKED 


203 


section next the bow compartment. There 
was a narrow lane all round the stowed cargo, 
next to the bulkhead and the sheathing of 
the ship. 

He soon found where Pawlin had been at 
work. In each side three holes had been 
bored in the steamer’s hull below the water- 
line with a large auger. Plugs were driven in 
to keep out the sea. When these plugs should 
be pulled, six streams of water, each as large 
as a man’s arm, would be forced into the hold. 

“No pump can keep pace with such leaks 
as those,” thought Crane. “If that scoundrel 
once pulls the plugs, it will be all up with 
the steamer.” 

He returned to the deck, still undecided as 
to the best course to pursue. It would be a 
very serious matter to bring a charge against 
an officer of the steamer, and Crane recog- 
nized the difficulties in his path. He knew 
Captain Robinson for about what he was. If 
Captain Grayves of the Red Arrow was some- 
thing of a tyrant, the commander of the 
Fedora was worse. 

He was a man hard to approach. He was 
intensely and insufferably inspired with a be- 


204 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


lief in his own importance, ^nH it would be 
particularly hard for a common sailor to ap- 
proach him. However Crane had impressed 
others aboard the steamer, he knew well 
enough that Captain Robinson considered 
him in the same category as his Portuguese 
seamen and Italian stokers. 

The next day, in the watch below. Crane 
borrowed a razor and shaved himself, and 
one of his mates deftly trimmed his hair. For 
the first time since leaving the penitentiary 
he began to look like the Wilbur Crane of 
old. He had allowed a clipped moustache to 
remain, and when he had combed his hair as 
had been his wont, the effect was rather start- 
ling. 

‘‘But I don’t believe anybody would know 
me,” he thought, as he peered at himself in 
the little cracked mirror hanging on the fore- 
castle stanchion. “Will Crane is dead — at 
least to them/^ he added bitterly. 

He was on deck later — at that time between 
daylight and dark which would correspond 
to the dog-watch on a sailing vessel — leaning 
on the rail and gazing at the little phospho- 
rescent wave parted by the steamer’s prow as 


UNMASKED 


205 


she cut through the quiet sea, when Jessie 
strolled toward him. Her eyes were fixed 
upon the glories of the Southern Cross just 
rising from the sea. 

^Why, Mr. Carter! is it you?” she ex- 
claimed, seeing him suddenly. That little 
line which always appeared between her eyes 
when she was puzzled, marred her forehead 
as she gazed at him. 

^‘Yes ma’am. It’s me,” he said, quietly, and 
dropped his gaze. 

“Have you quite recovered?” 

“Quite, Miss,” he replied, still keeping his 
eyes averted. 

“It is as calm to-night as it was some of 
those dreadful days on the raft,” she said, in 
a lower tone, turning her own eyes away from 
him. “Shall you ever forget that time, Mr. 
Carter?” 

“Never!” His sudden emphasis startled 
her into looking at him again, and she caught 
his eyes resting upon her face with an expres- 
sion that she had never seen in them before. 

At that moment Don Burke came quickly 
along the deck. “Jessie,” he said, casting a 
sharp glance at Crane, “they are about to have 


206 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


some auction whist in the cabin. Will you 
help make a table?” 

“Not to-night, Don,” she responded, and 
there was a note of displeasure in her 
voice. 

“Don’t know but you are right,” he said 
familiarly. “It’s too pleasant to go below. 
Shall we take a turn about the deck?” 

Crane had haP turned away, gazing again 
over the side; but he could not help hearing 
the conversation. 

“Thank you, not now,” and Jessie’s voice 
was frigid. “If I need an escort I can surely 
call on Mr. Carter, here,” and she turned 
again to Crane. 

Don Burke spat out an oath. Wilbur 
Crane turned swiftly, his face pallid. 

“I — I beg your pardon. Miss, but this is my 
watch on deck,” he said, huskily. “The rules 
do not allow me to talk with the passengers.” 

He was about to move away when Don ex- 
claimed, under his breath: “You’d better 
have thought of that before, you mucker!” 

Like a flash Crane wheeled about. His 
hand was clenched, and in spite of Jessie Mar- 
tell’s presence he would have struck the fel- 


UNMASKED 207 

low had not she interposed herself between 
them. 

^Tor my sake, Mr. Carter!” she exclaimed, 
with her hand on his arm. Then she turned 
to Don. “Why can’t you behave like a gen- 
tleman, even if you aren’t one, Don Burke?” 
she inquired, cuttingly. 

And then she stopped, for there was an ex- 
pression on Burke’s face which quite startled 
her. His head was thrust forward and his 
eyes were fixed upon Crane’s countenance. 
His hands clasped and unclasped tensely, and 
the color slowly left his cheeks. 

“I know you — I know you now!” he said, 
thickly. “Why didn’t I suspect it before? I 
might have known ” 

“Hush! for heaven’s sake keep still!” 
Crane commanded hoarsely. 

“Ah! you wouldn’t like your name men- 
tioned, would you?” 

“Who is he?” demanded Jessie, as Crane 
remained silent. 

Burke smiled — a triumphant and cruel 
smile. “You order me to tell you, just as you 
ordered me to leave you a moment ago,” he 


208 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


said. ‘‘I’ll tell you who he is — ^who this brave 
and wonderful fellow — this stowaway — is. 

“Beating his passage to Buenos Aires was 
quite in his line,” continued Burke. “Cheat- 
ing is an art with him. Being a stowaway is 
a small matter to a man who is an adept at 
forgery.” 

Jessie uttered a stifled cry and turned to 
Crane. 

“It is Mr. Wilbur Crane,” Burke said, “the 
former confidential clerk of Martell & 
Burke.” 

“It cannot be!” cried the girl. “Why I 
should have known him — how could I help 
it?” 

“It is Crane,” repeated Burke, still with the 
smile upon his lips. 

“Tell me — is it true?” gasped the girl, peer- 
ing into Crane’s face through the gathering 
dusk. 

“It is.” He said it slowly, the words com- 
ing gutturally from his throat. 

“Wilbur Crane!” She repeated the name, 
coniing closer to him. 

He looked at her calmly and put out his 
hand. “Yes. It is Will,” he answered her. 


UNMASKED 


209 


‘‘Do not touch me!” she cried, and, sud- 
denly breaking into a passion of sobs, turned 
and ran swiftly away along the deck. 

Crane was aroused by Burke’s chuckle. He 
glanced at him fiercely. 

“I wouldn’t have asked for anything bet- 
ter,” sneered the latter. “I’m sorry for you. 
Will, old boy! What an ass you’ve made of 
yourself !” 

Crane controlled his voice by a mighty 
effort. “Wait!” he said, calmly. 

“I am waiting,” responded his enemy airily. 

“You haven’t waited long enough.” 

“I suppose you have had more experience 
in that occupation than I,” said Burke, with 
a laugh. “A cell is a very good place in which 
to practise it, I understand.” 

“It is,” said Crane. Then he stepped sud- 
denly closer to his enemy, his burning eyes 
holding the latter’s gaze. “For every instant 
I have suffered, the guilty shall suffer ten,” 
he said. 

And then he went away and left Don Burke 
trembling and afraid. 


CHAPTER XX 

CRANE MAKES HIS PLEA 

The incident set forth in the previous chap- 
ter had a strange effect upon Wilbur Crane. 
The blow had fallen — the worst had hap- 
pened. Nothing that could occur now would 
have any effect upon his soul. He felt 
numbed and dead throughout his whole being. 
His mask was removed, and Jessie had 
spurned him. 

Thereafter let things take their course. He 
was no longer a man ; he was an automaton — 
a machine set to do certain things. And man 
or demon should not stop him from perform- 
ing the tasks. 

The Fedora traveling southward as 
rapidly as steam and good weather could 
carry her. Captain Robinson was forcing the 
ship to her highest speed for two reasons. 
One was that they had met so much bad 
weather during the first of the voyage that 
the steamer would soon be overdue at the 


210 


CRANE MAKES HIS PLEA 211 


Straits and the agents anxious. The second 
reason grew out of that, the voyage having 
already been so long that the coal in the bunk- 
ers was getting low. 

Simon Burke was a careful, not to say nig- 
gardly, man when it came to coaling and 
provisioning his ships, and in the case of the 
Fedora he had been particularly miserly. Be- 
fore they had been out of Boston a week the 
engineer had told Captain Robinson that only 
with the greatest economy could the fuel be 
made to last the voyage. 

Now the interval of fine weather drew sud- 
denly to a close. They were still several days’ 
journey from the Straits when a hurricane 
burst upon them. 

Crane, remembering those plugs in the 
steamer’s hull, could scarcely sleep at night. 
He did not believe Pawlin would be reckless 
enough to pull them while the storm was 
raging, but something might happen to start 
them. He tossed in his berth and tried to de- 
cide what course to pursue — how best to gain 
the captain’s ear and put the conspiracy be- 
fore him. 

Jessie Martell, after the startling discovery 


212 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


of Crane’s identity, had gone to her cabin 
filled with shame and wrath. The disclosure 
was a shock from which she did not easily re- 
cover. 

From admiring, from almost worshiping, 
the man who had so nobly fought her battles, 
sacrificing himself for her in every possible 
way, she turned in a moment to loathing. She 
had believed in his honesty, in his integrity of 
soul. And to find him a mere sham — a felon, 
hiding his identity under an alias! 

^^And I believed him so noble and good!” 
she sobbed, with her hot face buried in her 
pillow. “What could he have meant? How 
dared he follow me in this way? Oh, I wish 
— I wish with all my heart — I were back in 
Boston. Father is the only honest man I 
know! All the others are shams! I believed 
Don to be a noble man, too ; but what a mean, 
contemptible coward he has shown himself! 
And this man — this Will Crane who was 
my friend for years!” 

She stopped suddenly, a new thought cross- 
ing her mind. She had thought Crane dis- 
honorable — a man who had repaid the many 
benefits and kindnesses of her father by rob- 


CRANE MAKES HIS PLEA 213 

bing him. But as Carter, the stoker, he 
had proved himself honorable, as brave as a 
lion, as tender as a woman, altogether admi- 
rable ! How could two so opposite characters 
dwell in the same body?’’ 

In Don Burke’s case it was different. She 
had known him from a boy, as she had Crane. 
He had always appeared a gentlemanly fel- 
low, with no particularly strong qualities, per- 
haps, but neither did he have any vices — at 
least, none of which she knew. His surface 
qualities were the same now as then. But 
when danger stirred the depths of his nature 
the real underlying qualities appeared, and 
he showed himself to be the pitiable coward 
— the jealous, weak-minded man he was. 

She went back in memory, as she lay in 
her berth, and saw Wilbur Crane as a boy, 
too. Both he and Don had visited the Mar- 
tell house more or less. Both had been her 
close companions and friends. She had pre- 
ferred Crane instinctively, because he was 
manly and outspoken. He had been rather 
headstrong, perhaps, and had bullied Don 
Burke, but these same qualities, developed by 
the years, had saved their lives upon the raft. 


214 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


But immediately she sought to shut this out 
of her thoughts. Jessie Martell was a per- 
son of strong likes and dislikes. She was 
loyal to her friends with that loyalty which, 
when once betrayed, turns to bitter contempt. 
Will Crane had done a most ungrateful and 
criminal thing. He had forged the name of 
the man who had been his friend and bene- 
factor. 

How could she doubt his guilt? She knew 
her father too well to believe that he would 
have countenanced Crane’s prosecution had 
he not been convinced beyond the shadow of 
a doubt that the young man was guilty. And 
when it became a certainty that he was guilty, 
and when he refused to make any confession 
or show the least contrition for his crime, Wil- 
bur Crane died to her. She commiserated 
his fall ; she pitied him ; but he was as dead as 
if he were really in his grave — at least, so 
she made herself believe. 

Unnerved, unstrung, by her terrible ex- 
periences since leaving Boston, she was angry 
that he should have shown himself to be a 
man instead of the poltroon she had thought 
him — even, in truth, that he had sprung to 


CRANE MAKES HIS PLEA 215 


life again. How had he dared win her re- 
spect in such an underhand manner? 

With flaming cheeks she remembered how 
she had clung to him that last night in the 
lifeboat. The poor stoker, Carter, had been 
to her all that was noble and true; Wilbur 
Crane filled her soul with contempt. 

She was still in this frame of mind when, 
two days later, while the steamer was rolling 
in a gale which had kept her below deck, she 
received a message from Captain Robinson 
requesting her presence in the chart-room. 
Wondering at the message, she hurriedly 
obeyed it. 

The captain, his scanty hair bristling and 
his face very red, was sitting behind the table, 
but not until she had entered and closed the 
door did she see the second occupant of the 
room. Crane stood, hat in hand, before the 
pompous little skipper. 

“Sit down. Miss Martell, sit down!” ex- 
claimed Captain Robinson. “I want you to 
listen to this impertinent fellow’s most as- 
tounding story. I believe he is a friend of 
yours?” 

Jessie sat down without looking at Crane. 


216 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


“He was saved with Mr. Burke and myself, 
if that is what you mean, Captain Robinson,” 
she said coldly. 

“I have not asked that Miss Martell be 
brought here,” broke in Crane. “I came here 
to talk to you, sir — to warn you of danger. 
You have seen fit to laugh at and insult me 
for my pains. Asking Miss Martell to be 
present is the greatest insult of all !” 

Jessie flushed hotly, and her brown eyes 
held a spark of anger in their depths. 

“Upon my word!” cried Captain Robinson. 
“I never heard such astonishing language — 
and from a common sailor, too.” 

“It does not matter what my position may 
be at the present moment!” exclaimed Crane, 
furiously. “I have warned you of a danger 
that threatens your steamer and every soul 
aboard her, and you choose to laugh at it. 
But you will live to rue it.” 

“Stop, fellow! I will not allow you to ad- 
dress such language to me!” declared Robin- 
son pompously. “Let me tell you what he 
says. Miss Martell. He is either crazy, or a 
desperately rascally fellow. He declares that 
the Fedora is to be scuttled by one of my 


CRANE MAKES HIS PLEA 217 


mates, who only waits till the weather shall be 
favorable to pull the plugs out of the holes 
he has bored in her bottom. 

“What do you think of such a preposterous 
story?” pursued the commander. “Do you 
think the privation the fellow went through 
on that raft has driven him insane? How 
else can you explain it? 

“And that is not the worst of the story,” 
went on the captain. “He declares that the 
owner of the steamer — Mr. Burke’s father, 
mind you! — is a party to the crime. That he 
has hired one of my officers to sink the 
F e dor a r 

Jessie looked at the captain with a horrified 
face. 

“Isn’t it terrible?” demanded Robinson. 
“He really declares there is a conspiracy 
against all our lives and against the insur- 
ance companies.” 

“And what I say is true,” said Crane. “At 
least. Captain, make an investigation. Look 
in the hold. I swear to you the holes are there 
— I’ve seen the plugs myself.” 

“I’ll have an examination made in the 
morning, never fear,” said the commander. 


218 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


“But if there is anything wrong there, it will 
be because you have been tampering with the 
hull. Whether you are crazy or not, I shall 
confine you for the rest of the voyage, my 
man.” 

“Confine me if you like; but give my re- 
port a fair hearing. As you intend going 
about it, Pawlin will be warned. Keep the 
matter quiet, I beg of you, and watch him. 
Watch him closely, for I believe that as soon 
as this gale drops he intends to pull the 
plugs.” 

“Well, well! I never saw such a persistent 
maniac in all my life!” cried the captain. 

But suddenly Jessie spoke. “Captain Rob- 
inson,” she said, “I cannot remain here and 
listen to an honest man maligned in that man- 
ner. Not for an instant must suspicion rest 
upon Mr. Pawlin, who appears to be a very 
worthy man. As for Mr. Simon Burke, he is 
my father’s partner, and above suspicion.” 

“Oh, I pray you. Miss Martell!” cried Rob- 
inson, commiseratingly. “Not for a moment 
could I believe Mr. Burke guilty of such a 
dastardly crime. Why ” 

“Let me finish. Captain. I know this man,” 


CRANE MAKES HIS PLEA 219 


said Jessie, pointing scornfully to Crane. 
“And I understand the motive for this con- 
temptible story he tells. He is not insane. 
He does it out of cowardly revenge. I am 
glad you called me in here.” 

Crane paled to his lips, but his eyes met 
hers unflinchingly. 

“Revenge!” cried Robinson. “For what?” 

“Yes, sir. This man who calls himself 
Carter, and who stowed himself away aboard 
the Red Arrow, and was afterward a stoker 
on that steamer, was once known by another 
name.” 

“Indeed? This is becoming interesting,” 
cried Robinson. 

“His real name is Wilbur Crane, and he 
was once employed by Martell & Burke in 
their offices in Boston. But he forged their 
name to a check, and has spent the last five 
years of his miserable life in prison.” 

“What?” gasped Robinson. 

Crane’s head sank upon his breast, his eyes 
cast down. 

“Look at him!” cried Jessie, her indigna- 
tion rising. “This is his method of seeking 
revenge upon one of the men who punished 


220 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


him. He may have sought passage by stealth 
upon the Red Arrow for some worse purpose 
— the Red Arrow belonged to my father’s 
firm, you know.” 

“Why, the villain!” ejaculated the captain 
breathlessly. 

“I cannot understand what he means by 
this tale,” continued Jessie. “Captain, I wish 
you would have the hold searched. I should 
feel safer.” 

“I will do so — I certainly will,” responded 
the captain. 

Wilbur Crane straightened up suddenly, 
and a look of satisfaction came into his face. 

“It doesn’t matter to me why you investi- 
gate,” he said hoarsely, “so long as you do it.” 

“I will have it looked after in the morning, 
Miss Martell.” 

“Why not now. Captain?” cried Crane. 
“It may be too late then. The wind and sea 
are going down; Pawlin may finish his work 
at any moment.” 

Jessie had been about to suggest an imme- 
diate examination herself ; but she would not 
now. 

“The morning will do. Captain,” she said, 


CRANE MAKES HIS PLEA 221 


brusquely. “And I beg of you to say nothing 
of this to Mr. Burke — or, in fact, to any one. 
Just think what an awful scandal it might 
lead to if the matter were noised abroad. And 
how Mr. Pawlin would feel, too.” 

“You are right, my dear young lady. This 
fellow had really better be confined until we 
reach Valparaiso. He may poison the minds 
of the crew.” 

“It matters nothing to me what becomes of 
him,” said Jessie, coldly, as she turned toward 
the door. 

Her bitterness at last spurred Crane to 
speech. Stung by her words and manner, he 
suddenly leaped between her and the exit and 
barred her further pasage. 

“Fellow! How dare you?” cried the cap- 
tain, rising from his seat. 

But Crane paid no attention to him. His 
blazing eyes were fixed upon Jessie’s face, and 
she was forced to look at him. 

“Miss Martell,” he said hoarsely, “you 
have done me a most cruel wrong. I do not 
deserve it from you. Whatever you may be- 
lieve me to have been in the past, I have given 


222 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


you no cause to suspect me of so foul a thing 
as this you suggest ” 

^^Stop! Let her pass!” cried Captain Rob- 
inson, purple with rage. 

“She shall not pass until she hears what I 
have to say.” Crane folded his arms and 
placed his back against the door. “Will you 
listen, Miss Martell?” 

“Let him speak to me. Captain Robinson,” 
the girl said faintly. 

“The day I was released from prison,” said 
Crane, hurriedly, “I was met by Simon 
Burke. He offered me a passage out of the 
country on one of his vessels, if I would agree 
to place myself under the orders of a man 
named Pawlin for the voyage. From what 
he said I suspected that he was intending some 
deviltry. I refused to be a party to his scheme 
and left him. 

“The next day, quite by chance, I learned 
that you and Mrs. Buchanan were to sail on 
the Red Arrow, I feared that that was the 
steamer Burke was planning to wreck. I 
tried to see your father to warn him. He was 
not at the office. I followed to your home. 



“Stop! Let her pass!” cried Captain Robinson. 

( See page 222) 




CRANE MAKES HIS PLEA 223 

He had gone away, the gardener told me, and 
the time of his return was doubtful.” 

“You came to the house and spoke to the 
gardener?” repeated Jessie, with sudden in- 
terest. 

“Yes. Neither your father nor your aunt 
was there. I could not see you. It was then 
late in the afternoon, and the steamer was to 
sail the next morning. I had half decided to 
be a stowaway upon the Red Arrow before I 
learned that you were going to sail in her. 
The agent would not ship me with the crew 
because I was a discharged convict. 

“I was afraid the hatches of the steamer 
would be closed if I waited any longer,” pur- 
sued Crane, “so I went back to town and went 
aboard. That is how I came to be on the Red 
Arrow, After I came out on deck I found 
that I had been wrong in my suspicions. 
Pawlin was not aboard. Don Burke was, and 
I knew, his father thought too much of him to 
risk his life. 

“When we came aboard this craft and I 
saw Pawlin and another fellow whom I rec- 
ognized as a chum of his and a man who — 
well, whom I had seen before. When I saw 


224 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

them, I say, my suspicions were at once re- 
aroused, and, after assuring myself that the 
danger was imminent, I came and told Cap- 
tain Robinson.” 

“A very ingenious story, upon my word,” 
remarked the captain. 

Then he saw Crane leap forward and seize 
Jessie in his arms. She had fainted, and would 
have fallen to the floor had he not intervened. 

“Lay her down on that rug there,” com- 
manded the captain excitedly. He jerked 
open the door and shouted for the stewardess. 

“As for you,” he added, scowling again at 
Crane, “we’ll put you forward in the cage, 
where you won’t get into any mischief.” 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE BLOW FALLS 

The negress gathered the young woman 
into her muscular arms and bore her bodily 
to her own cabin. 

“Lawsy-me! what yo’ men been doin’ to dis 
po’ lamb?” she demanded. “ ’Pears to me 
w’ite folks hain’t got no sense nohow.” 

The captain saw the purser coming down 
the companionway stairs. ^^Here, Mr. 
Nolan,” he said. ^^Take charge of this fel- 
low.” 

The officer came forward in surprise. 
“What’s to be done with him, Captain?” he 
inquired. 

“Take him to the box in the steerage. Lock 
him up. I’ll ’tend to him later.” 

“Aye, aye, sir!” 

Nolan seized his prisoner by the shoulder 
and marched him out of the chart-room, 
through the saloon cabin, and out upon the 
deck. The night was dark, but both sea and 

225 


226 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


wind were subsiding. The gale had blown 
itself out, and before morning it would doubt- 
less be clear. 

“Where’s Mr. Pawlin?” demanded the 
purser. 

“Dunno, sir,” replied the man at the wheel 
indifferently. 

“Isn’t this his watch?” 

“Aye, aye, sir. But he’s gone below for a 
minute. I’m thinkin’.” 

“I saw him go into the steerage a little 
while ago,” declared one of the watch. 

At that Crane almost broke away from the 
purser. “Let me go!” he gasped. “The 
rascal’s at his work!” 

“Easy, my hearty! What’s the matter with 
you?” cried Nolan. 

Crane almost dragged him to the steerage 
stairs and plunged down. A light glimmered 
before them. In a moment Crane, with the 
purser close behind, reached the manhole 
leading into the hold. Pawlin was just climb- 
ing out, his face pale and garments saturated, 
a lantern in his hand. Crane sprang at his 
throat. 

“You fiend! You devil!” he hissed, shaking 


THE BLOW FALLS 227 

the mate, big as he was, back and forth along 
the passage. “You’ve done it, have you?” 

“Stop, stop! what are you doing?” cried 
Nolan, and tried to drag him off his prey. 

At that instant a shout rang out from the 
deck. It was repeated while they listened. 
Before its echo died away, there came a fear- 
ful shock and all three were thrown down in 
a heap. 

“By heavens! she’s struck!” gasped Nolan 
in horror. 

“No, she’s run something down!” cried 
Pawlin. He broke away from Crane, and, 
with Nolan, made for the deck. 

Crane picked himself up. He thought he 
heard a groan near by, but he could not stop 
to investigate. 

Pawlin had dropped the lantern and a mal- 
let as he came out of the hold. Crane seized 
both and lowered himself into the depths. He 
landed in water above his ankles, and the 
swish of the sea as it spurted through the 
great auger holes filled his ears. The plugs 
had been drawn! 

Swinging the lantern above his head he 
waded around to the port alley. Two streams 


228 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


of water were squirting into the hold with a 
force which carried it clear to the crating 
which shut in the cargo. One of the plugs 
had been wedged so tightly that Pawlin had 
evidently been unable to remove it. The 
water splashed against the cargo and poured 
down into the narrow lane. 

There was a spike overhead, and upon it 
Crane hung the lantern. In a little niche just 
inside the crate he saw several plugs and an- 
other mallet. He seized one of the plugs and 
rushed to the nearest stream. The water came 
through the aperture with all the force of a 
stream from a fire-hose. As the ship lurched 
to one side he stumbled into its range. The 
water, striking him full in his breast carried 
him off his feet. He fell at full length, but 
was up again in a moment. The water was as 
high as his knees now. 

Approaching the spot more cautiously, he 
jammed the smaller end of the plug into the 
auger hole and struck it a mighty blow with 
the mallet. Blow upon blow he delivered 
until the plug was driven to its head and not 
a drop of water trickled in about it. He went 


THE BLOW FALLS 


229 


back for another plug and stopped the other 
stream in the same manner. 

“Now for the others!” he muttered. 

He found the two plugs that Pawlin had 
drawn, and with them and his mallet and lan- 
tern hurried around to the other side. All 
three plugs had been drawn there, but after 
some careful manoeuvring two of the holes 
were stopped. He had no plug for the third. 
He searched frantically the length of the pas- 
sage, but none came to light. 

“It will never do to leave that stream run- 
ning,” muttered Crane. “Heaven only knows 
what damage has been done to the steamer by 
the collision, and the pumps may have to be 
worked to their full capacity. This leak must 
be stopped.” 

He hurried back to the port side. The 
water in the compartment had subsided a 
good deal already, having run off into the 
steamer’s bilge. The pump rod would prob- 
ably show three or four feet of water in the 
well. 

Crane examined the narrow lanes around 
the cargo, and finally found another plug. 
But it looked very small. He hastened with it 


230 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


to the unstoppered hole, but when he grasped 
the mallet and sought to drive the plug in 
the water at once shot it violently back. Crane 
scrambled for it again and essayed to insert it 
a second time. But it was useless. The plug 
was altogether too small. 

He dropped both plug and mallet, and, 
tearing off his coat, ripped a sleeve from 
the garment. Wrapping this about the 
smaller end of the plug he was at length suc- 
cessful in stopping the flow. With all his re- 
maining strength he pounded away and at last 
drove the plug home. 

This accomplished, he hurried back to the 
manhole through which he had gained en- 
trance to the hold. He had been below a 
good hour, and, being so far below the deck, 
could hear nothing that might tell him of 
affairs happening above. 

When he reached the little hatch he found 
it closed. Somebody had dropped the door. 
In sudden fright Crane scrambled up and 
tried it. It was bolted above and he could 
not move it. 

He rapped loudly on the hatch and shouted. 
Then he pounded with the heavy mallet. But 


THE BLOW FALLS 


231 


there was no reply except the mocking echoes. 
He was trapped in the hold of the possibly 
sinking steamer! 

Fear clutched at his heart. The manhole 
was securely fastened — either by mistake or 
malicious intention — and if the steamer foun- 
dered, this compartment of the hold would be 
his tomb! 

But he had faced death in other and more 
fearful forms too recently to lose his pres- 
ence of mind. The deck above his head was 
solidly built and he had no tools with which 
to break through. Stay! what had become 
of the great auger Pawlin had used in boring 
the holes through the steamer’s stern? 

He leaped down into the alley and made 
a thorough search for the implement. Near 
where he had found the plugs and the mallet 
he saw the round breast-plate of a bit-stock 
sticking out of a crevice in the closely packed 
cargo. He could scarcely reach it with his 
finger-tips and could not, therefore, exert 
sufficient power to draw it out, but with a 
mallet he forced off one of the planks of 
which the crate was built, and was then able 


232 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


to thrust in his arm and get the tool. The 
auger was still screwed into the handle. 

Hurrying back to the manhole he mounted 
the rude ladder and by pressing his shoulders 
against the door learned by the way it gave 
about where the hinges and the bolt were situ- 
ated. In ten minutes he had won through, 
and with a shout of joy leaped out into the 
steerage. 

He heard the trampling of feet and shout- 
ing of voices on deck. Along with the steady 
pounding of the steamer’s engines was the 
hoarse coughing of the donkey-engine amid- 
ships and the clank of the pumps. 

He rushed up the steps to the deck. The 
first person his eyes rested upon was the 
purser, Nolan. 

“Where have you been, you confounded 
sneak?” he demanded angrily. “D’you hear 
those pumps? There must be a hole in her 
bow big enough to drive an ox-team through. 
She’s sinking by the head!” 

Crane turned swiftly and glanced forward. 
The Fedora seemed about to take a header to 
the bottom of the ocean. Her short bowsprit 
was almost under water. 


THE BLOW FALLS 


233 


“Great heavens!” he groaned. “I thought 
I stopped all the holes. That fiend must have 
been at work in the bow compartment, tool” 

“Either you’re crazy or I am,” declared 
Nolan. “Who are you talking about? She’s 
run into a submerged derelict, and her bows 
must be all stove in below the water- 
line. We’ve got to take to the boats.” 

“Where’s the Captain, sir?” 

“In his cabin — dead.” 

“Dead?” gasped Crane. 

“Yes, dead! He was at the top of the com- 
panionway when she struck, and was thrown 
backward. Broke his neck and died in- 
stantly.” 

At that moment the first officer’s stentorian 
voice reached their ears. “Mr. Nolan! pipe 
away your boat! The steward will look out 
for the captain’s.” 

The purser ran aft and Crane followed him 
blindly. But before they reached it the gang 
of Italians who stoked the furnaces seized 
upon the boat and piled into it with pitiable 
screams and prayers. 

“Get out of there!” roared Nolan, trying 


234 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


to dislodge them, one by one. But as fast as 
he pulled one out another slipped in. 

“Cut ’em adrift!” shouted Pawlin from the 
other side of the deck where he was super- 
intending the unlashing of another boat. 

“No, no! Don’t do that!” cried Mr. Cart- 
wright. “Go with ’em, Nolan, or they’ll be 
lost. The course is nor’-nor’-west. The boat’s 
provisioned.” 

He left the bridge as he spoke and went to 
his own boat as Nolan slid down the cable 
into his. The purser’s boat was already full. 
Crane cast it off. 

“Pretty near ready, Mr. Pawlin?” sang out 
the first officer. 

“Aye, aye. Go ahead, sir. I’m with you.” 

Crane ran across to the other rail. “All 
full here, my man,” declared the first officer. 
“Go in the boat with the second mate.” 

“But Miss Martell — where is she?” he 
cried. 

“With Mr. Burke. They’ve elected to go 
with Mr. Pawlin.” 

At that moment a signal-light began to 
sputter on the main deck and Cartwright cast 
off. Crane heard Pawlin utter a fearful im- 


THE BLOW FALLS 235 

precation and saw him run toward the glow- 
ing light. 

“What are you doing with that Bengal?” 
demanded the second mate. 

“Mr. Cartwright told me to burn ’em,” 
Crane heard Don Burke reply. “If there’s 
any other ship about she’ll see us and come 
to our assistance.” 

“You’re getting too fresh!” cried the wrath- 
ful Pawlin. “Git out o’ here!” He tramped 
out the light, and the small boat having been 
lowered he lifted Burke bodily by the collar 
and dropped him into it. 

Crane sprang across the deck and seized 
Pawlin by the arm. “Where’s the girl?” he 
cried. “You’ll not leave her?” 

The officer fell back, staring at him as 
though he beheld an apparition. His face 
was pallid in the dim light of the stars that 
had begun to peep out between the drifting 
clouds. 

“Oh, it’s me,” said Crane. “And I’ll live 
to see you hung yet! Where’s Miss Mar- 
tell?” 

“She’s in the cabin,” shrieked Burke, start- 
ing upright. “I said I would return for her.” 


236 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


“Stay where you are!” roared Pawlin, col- 
lecting his wits. “She’s gone in one of the 
other boats.” 

“You lie!” cried Crane. “Go for her,” he 
commanded, his eyes flashing. 

“Go yourself!” 

Crane whipped out his pistol, presenting 
it at Pawlin’s breast. “By heavens!” he 
shouted. “You sha’n’t leave this steamer 
without her!” 

The other three boats were now so far from 
the steamship that the darkness hid them. 
The Fedora was laboring desperately in the 
heavy swells, the waves rolling up and break- 
ing over her bows, burying her sprit in foam. 
The two sailors in the small boat were for 
pulling away from the apparently sinking 
craft without more ado. But Crane’s pistol 
cowed them into submission and Grandon 
Burke clung to the line grimly. 

“We sha’n’t go without her! We sha’n’t 
go without her!” he kept repeating. 

The steamship was still moving through 
the sea, though her pace was becoming 
slower, for her fires were dying down. The 
wheel was lashed and she was headed on her 


THE BLOW FALLS 


237 


proper course. The fire under the boiler of 
the donkey engine was burning well and the 
pumps rattled away — ^^clinkety-clank! clink- 
ety-clankr — while the water spurted across 
the deck in a broad stream and out through 
the hawse-pipes. 

Pawlin suddenly appeared from the cabin, 
staggering along the deck with a burden in 
his arms. It appeared that Jessie must have 
fainted. The seaman had seized the nearest 
thing at hand — a blanket — and wrapped it 
around her, shrouding her figure from head 
to foot. 

“Stand out o’ the way I” he shouted to 
Crane. “If the girl goes, you can’t. There’s 
not room for both of you!” 

He leaped with his burden into the boat, 
almost capsizing it. “Cast off!” he cried. 
Burke let go the line and the boat fell behind. 
Crane gazed with straining vision at it and at 
the motionless figure in the second officer’s 
arms. 

Suddenly Pawlin turned and faced the de- 
serted man at the steamer’s rail. An expres- 
sion of fiendish triumph distorted his face. 

“Sold!” he shouted, and opening his arms 


238 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

let his burden fall from them. “I give you 
joy on your v’yge to Davy Jones — you an’ th’ 
girl, both!” 

The blanket, with whatever he had 
wrapped in it to represent Jessie’s inert body, 
fell into the water. Grandon Burke uttered 
a frenzied scream, and essayed to fling him- 
self after it. But Pawlin seized him and cast 
him into the bottom of the boat. Then the 
darkness shut them from the gaze of the 
white-faced man at the steamer’s rail. 


CHAPTER XXII 

BENNY 

The awful fact that Jessie, as well as him- 
self, had been left behind by Pawlin, almost 
crushed Crane. Where was she? What had 
happened to her? 

He pulled himself together after a minute 
and hurried below. He did not know which 
was her stateroom, and threw open door after 
door until he came to one that was locked. 
The key was on the outside and he unfastened 
and opened it. 

A light was burning in the room. Kneel- 
ing beside the berth with her face buried in 
the pillow was Jessie Martell. He stepped 
swiftly to her side and laid his hand on her 
shoulder. 

“You!” she cried. “How did you get here? 
Why was my door locked? What has hap- 
pened on deck?” She arose quickly and 
drew away from him. 

239 


240 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

“Be brave, Miss Martell,” he said slowly. 
“You need all your fortitude now.” 

“What do you mean? Where is Mr. Cart- 
wright? And Don? Isn’t the first mate in 
command?” 

“The steamer has been deserted. You and 
I are alone here.” 

“Alone!” Her voice rose to almost a shriek 
and she shrank farther from him. “Oh, that 
I were dead! Why did they not kill me in- 
stead of locking me in here? Alone! With 
you?^^ 

Crane stepped out of the stateroom, his 
face suddenly paling. “Jessie,” he said, “sup- 
pose you listen to what I have to say, and then 
wrap yourself warmly and come on deck. It 
will be safer for you there until we see how 
seriously the steamer is injured.” 

Then, as briefly as possible, he related what 
had taken place. His calm tones brought her 
to herself. The hysterical state in which he 
had found her soon passed. 

“You — ^you were locked into the hold?” 
she asked slowly. 

“As you were locked into your stateroom, 
and by the same person, of course. Pawlin 


BENNY 


241 


must have suspected that you, as well as I, 
knew what he had done. The captain being 
dead, he feared nobody else.” 

“But we ran into something,” broke in Jes- 
sie. “I felt the shock.” 

“Yes. But I doubt if that did the Fedora 
much damage. However, we shall soon see.” 

He ran back up the companionway before 
she could say more. The steamship was 
scarcely under headway now. He started for 
the engine-room, stopping on his way to 
throw more fuel under the boiler of the pump 
engine. 

His short experience upon the Red Arrow 
and the knowledge he had gained from books 
as a boy had given Crane a fair understand- 
ing of the working of the engines. The steam 
was very low according to the indicator, but 
the water in the boilers was all right. He 
descended to the fire-room, and, throwing 
aside his ragged coat, set to work to feed the 
furnaces. Then he ran back to the deck. 

Jessie stood, white-faced and trembling, 
by the quarter stairs. “I — I thought you had 
gone!” she gasped. 

“I have got to be engineer and stoker both,” 


242 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


he said. ^^If I can once stop the sea from 
coming into the forward compartment and 
dare put the Fedora on a course for Buenos 
Aires, I shall have to be helmsman as well.” 

^^But isn’t she going to sink?” 

^‘I don’t think so. The pumps seem to be 
almost keeping up with the inflow of water.” 

He left her without further parley and 
went to the forward hatch. This was the only 
entrance into the bow compartment. It 
showed evidences of having been lately 
opened. 

^T wasn’t so smart as I thought I was,” he 
said to himself. “Pawlin had been monkey- 
ing about down there, too.” 

He slid back the hatch and looked down. 
There was the glint of the sea at the bottom 
and the splash of running water reached his 
ears. 

“Scuttled just like the other compartment,” 
he muttered. “I’ll get a lantern — and one 
of those mallets.” 

He did not know where the carpenter’s 
tools were kept and therefore hurried into the 
steerage to get those he knew Pawlin had 
used. The lantern, still lit, was where he had 


BENNY 


243 


left it beside the open hatch. As he stooped to 
seize it he heard a voice in the darkness be- 
hind him. 

^^Help! help! For God’s sake!” it moaned. 

Crane was startled. “Another left behind 
on the steamer?” he muttered. 

Catching up the lantern he ran back into 
the steerage. He had not gone far before 
he found a man lying on the deck. 

“Help! Save me! Don’t leave me here to 
drown!” begged the fellow. 

It was Benny Mace. 

“What’s the matter with you?” demanded 
Crane. 

“He’s done for me — the beast! Jest as he’s 
done for all of us,” groaned Benny. 

“Who hurt you?” 

“Pawlin. Here — in my breast. I tried to 
keep him from pullin’ them plugs an’ he 
done for me. Ain’t we sinkin’?” 

“Not yet,” returned Crane. “Lie still; 
does it hurt you much?” 

“Awful! An’ I’m Weedin’ like a stuck 
pig-” 

“Let me carry you out of here. I’ll take 
you where you’ll be more comfortable.” 


244 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


He raised the wounded man and started 
for the stairs. Benny shrieked aloud, and 
then fainted, hanging limply in his bearer’s 
arms. 

“It is better so,” thought Crane. “I’ll let 
Jessie attend to him. It will give her some- 
thing to think of.” 

He hurried on deck with his burden. The 
girl was right at the head of the stairs. 

“Oh, don’t leave me alone again!” she im- 
plored. “I thought you were hurt, you were 
below so long. Let me go with you.” Then 
she saw the form in his arms. “What have 
you there? Who is it?” 

“A wounded man — Benny Mace. He was 
a sailor and Pawlin’s accomplice. But he 
turned decent at last, I take it, and tried to 
keep the second mate from pulling the plugs. 
He was stabbed for his pains.” 

“Oh! Is he dying?” 

“I don’t know how serious it is. You must 
attend to him. Miss Martell.” 

“Bring him down into the cabin, please — 
into my cabin,” cried the girl, forgetting her 
nervous fear. “I will do what I can for him. 
I know where Mr. Nolan keeps his medi- 
cines.” 


BENNY 


245 


She descended to the saloon-deck before 
him. By the time he had placed Benny in 
her berth she reappeared with bottles and 
bandages. 

‘‘I can dress it much better than I could 
your wound on the raft,” she said. “Help 
me off with his coat and shirt.” 

Crane silently drew out his knife and slit 
the clothing away from the wound. He be- 
lieved at first glance that the knife-thrust was 
fatal. 

“I will do very well now,” she said. “I did 
not take ‘first aid’ lessons for nothing. You 
have much to do. Will the steamer sink?” 

“Not if I can help it,” he replied, briefly, 
and went on deck again. He had to make 
a trip to the stoke-hole before he could go 
into the forward hold. The fuel for the fur- 
naces was rather low. With the greatest 
care it would scarcely have lasted the Fedora 
to Punta Arenas. He heaped up the fires 
again, and went back to the deck. The steam 
pressure was rising, and the craft moved a 
trifle faster, despite the fact that her nose 
was buried in the sea. 

He finally got the mallet and lantern and 


246 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


dropped into the bow compartment of the 
hold. The water swirled through the place, 
waist deep. Six streams were pouring in, 
but not a plank had been started by the col- 
lision of the Fedora with the submerged 
derelict. 

The scheme which had been developing in 
Wilbur Crane’s mind now took definite 
shape. He would plug the holes tightly, 
pump the ship clear, and work her into port. 
His face flushed and his hands trembled as 
he set to work. He would not only save Jes- 
sie’s life and his own, but the salvage would 
make him a wealthy man. 

The impossibilities of the idea did not 
strike him at the moment. He believed he 
could run the engine and be his own stoker, 
although the steamer might travel at a very 
low speed. 

He easily found three of the plugs Pawlin 
had withdrawn from the auger holes, and 
drove them into place so firmly that no action 
of the water could displace them. But he 
could not find the others, and, there being no 
proper timber at hand, he obtained some very 
good substitutes for the plugs in the cook’s 


BENNY 


247 


kitchen by knocking three legs out of the 
table. He shaved them down a little with 
a cleaver and found they did very well with 
a little caulking. When he finally shut the 
forward hatch he was confident that the dan- 
ger of the Fedora's sinking was for the pres- 
ent over. 

He could not hoist more coal up from the 
bunkers for the pump-engine, and to keep 
that going broke up more of the galley fur- 
niture and piled it under the boiler. He 
worked like a slave to keep the fires burning 
in the stoke-hole, but could only raise a few 
pounds of steam pressure. 

It was broad day before the steamer rode so 
well that he dared change her helm. Re- 
membering the course Mr. Cartwright had 
given his brother officers when the boats were 
launched. Crane put the Fedora on the same 
— a little north of northwest. 

This being done, he had an opportunity to 
think of his own and Jessie’s needs. He built 
a fire in the galley range and cooked a good 
meal, taking a generous share into the cabin 
for Jessie. 

“How is he?” asked Crane, standing at the 


248 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


foot of the cabin stairs and nodding toward 
her stateroom. 

She shook her head doubtfully. ^‘He^s very 
bad, I think. He suffers a great deal. All I 
can do is to keep the cloths on the wound 
wet.” 

“Well, Miss Martell, if you need me for 
anything, just call,” said he. “This is your 
part of the ship. I shall have to spend most 
of my time in the engine-room. There is no 
danger at present of the Fedora sinking. I 
have plugged all the holes Pawlin bored, and 
the pump will soon free her. The storm has 
entirely passed. I am laying as true a course 
as I know for Buenos Aires.” 

He turned and went out on deck and she 
went back to her patient. But after he had 
eaten his own breakfast he bethought him of 
the captain’s body. What had been done 
with it? He had not seen it in any of the 
boats, and surely it was too grisly a comrade 
for Jessie to be left below. 

He went down again and looked into the 
captain’s stateroom. He was horrified to 
find that the body had been huddled into the 
bed and left without even being decently laid 


BENNY 


249 


out. He went into the steerage for canvas, 
sewed the body up in it, weighting the feet 
as he had read bodies to be buried at sea al- 
ways are. 

Being obliged to stop in this work every 
few minutes to run up to the wheel-house, 
or down into the engine-room and stoke-hole, 
it was near noon before the captain’s body 
was decently prepared. Just as he finished he 
heard Jessie in the saloon. 

“Mr. Crane!” she called. 

She was standing just at her door, her face 
very pale and her eyes red with weeping; 
but she was calm. “What are you doing?” 
she asked, looking at him in what he thought 
to be a very strange manner. 

“I have been getting the captain’s body 
ready for burial,” he replied, slowly. 

“Are you done?” she asked quietly. 

“Yes.” 

“Then you may perform the same ofBce 
for this poor fellow,” she said, her voice trem- 
bling. “He has just died.” 

“What! And you never told me?” 

“You could have done no good.” 

“But for you to be alone with him!” ex- 


250 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

claimed Crane. ^^You certainly should have 
called me.’’ He had approached her while 
speaking, but now halted by the cabin table. 

“Mr. Crane — Wilbur,” she whispered, 
coming close to him and looking intently into 
his face, “I — I was not afraid to remain with 
that dying man. I would not have been else- 
where — for life itself 

He gazed at her in amazement. She put 
out her hand as though to lay it on his arm, 
and seemed about to speak again. Then sud- 
denly, changing her intention, the tears fill- 
ing her eyes, she fled swiftly to the deck. He 
did not speak with her again that day. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

JESSIE 

Crane banked the fires that night, for he 
felt the need of rest. The sea had calmed and 
the steamer lay on its smooth bosom, a mere 
blot of shadow in the brilliant moonlight. 

They were still a long distance from Bue- 
nos Aires, but while the weather remained 
good it would be an easy matter to keep the 
Fedora on her course. Her speed through- 
out the day had not been more than three or 
four knots an hour. 

Before going to rest he brought the bodies 
of the two dead men up from below and in 
the impressive stillness of the night slid them 
over the rail into the sea. 

He did not return to the saloon-cabin again, 
but slept on a roll of blankets in the engine- 
room. Where Jessie made her quarters, he 
did not know. She had not been in her own 
stateroom when he descended for the body 
251 


2S2 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


of Benny Mace. He thought, with bitter- 
ness of soul, that she so distrusted him that 
she had hidden from him somewhere aft 

He would not allow his mind to dwell 
upon this. His duty was to bring safely the 
steamer into port Then their ways would 
separate. He could demand sufficient sal- 
vage money to make him independent, and 
he would never see Boston again. He would 
find some business opening in South Amer- 
ica and forget his native land. 

He thought he might have learned some- 
thing of importance had he sounded Benny 
Mace before the latter died. It might have 
been in the man’s power to explain the mys- 
tery surrounding the forgery of which Wil- 
bur Crane had been accused. But the latter 
was obliged to attend to the working of the 
steamer, and now the lips of Benny Mace 
were sealed forever. 

When Crane went into the galley the next 
morning he found Jessie there before him. 
With her sleeves pushed back to her elbows 
and a big apron of the cook’s pinned about 
her, she was kneading bread. The sun shone 
blithely into the galley windows, and a fire 


JESSIE 


253 


was burning briskly in the range. It hardly 
seemed possible that they were alone on this 
great steamship. 

He came to the door so softly that she did 
not hear him. He was delighted to see how 
very philosophically she accepted her posi- 
tion. He had had ample proof upon the raft 
of her good sense; but he was not prepared 
for her cheerful spirits. She was humming 
a tune to herself, and her face dimpled into 
a smile as she kneaded the dough on the 
bread shelf. He stood watching her for sev- 
eral moments before she was aware of his 
presence. 

^‘Ohl” she exclaimed when she saw him, 
and he thought she shrank from him again. 
‘‘How you startled me!” 

“I beg your pardon; it was quite uninten- 
tional,” said Crane. “IVe just awakened. 
You seem to have got the start of me this 
morning.” 

“Yes,” she responded, quietly. The mirth 
had died out of her eyes and the smile dis- 
appeared from her face. “I will get break- 
fast — that is the least I can do. I — I will call 
you when it is ready.” 


254 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


Taking this as a dismissal, he went away. 
The fire had gone out under the boiler of the 
pump-engine, but there was still so much wa- 
ter in the hold that he built another, intend- 
ing to couple on the pumps once more when 
the steam was up. He took a look at the 
patent log and found that the steamer had 
drifted considerably during the night. She 
was off her course, too. He raked down the 
fires in the furnaces, heaped them with fuel 
and while waiting for the steam to come up 
heard Jessie calling to him from the galley. 

‘^Breakfast is ready, Mr. Crane,” she said 
timidly, when he appeared. 

She had set two plates upon the kneading 
shelf, as he had knocked out the table-legs 
the day before and made that article of fur- 
niture useless. But he did not notice these 
preparations. He was only desirous of mak- 
ing matters as easy for her as possible. 

“Just give me mine in one of the sailors’ 
pans,” he said. “I must go right back to the 
engine-room or I may be blowing up the 
steamer.” 

“But you can’t eat it comfortably there,” 
she said, turning her face away. 



Jessie had flown into Crane’s arms and hidden her 
face upon his breast. ( See page 278) 





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JESSIE 


255 


makes no difference, I assure you,” said 
Crane, with unintentional lack of gallantry, 
and bore off his food to the engine-room. 

He would have been greatly astonished 
had he known that instead of eating her own 
breakfast Jessie broke down and wept bitterly. 

“I deserve it! I deserve it!” she moaned, 
her face hidden on her arm as she sat before 
the kneading shelf. ‘^He does not wish to see 
or talk with me more than can be helped. I 
cannot blame him. He will never know how 
I thank him — how I worship him — for what 
he has done!” 

It was the same at noon. Crane simply ran 
down for a bite. He was forcing the steamer 
to as high a speed as he could, and was as 
black as any negro. In the afternoon he 
taught Jessie how to manage the wheel. With 
her steering he was able to raise the Fedorafs 
speed to six or seven knots an hour. 

It was exhausting work. When he banked 
the fires at night he was so weary that he cast 
himself upon the engine-room floor and fell 
almost instantly asleep. But the steamer had 
reduced the distance to Buenos Aires by one 
hundred miles. 


256 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


Jessie left the wheelhouse when he called 
up the tube that he had banked the fires, and 
went into the galley to prepare supper. When 
it was ready she called him, but he did 
not reply. The stillness brooding over the 
ship oppressed her. Fearful that something 
had happened she crept to the engine-room 
door. 

She did not see him for a moment. “Where 
has he gone?’’ she murmured, anxiously. “Is 
something wrong in the hold again?” 

The moon had risen and was flooding 
the sea brilliantly. A broad beam entered by 
the door and fell full upon Crane’s face. 
Then she saw him. 

She stepped softly into the place. The mo- 
tionless engine looked like some huge monster 
in the deep shadow, its glistening parts 
touched here and there by stray moonbeams. 
The silence frightened her; she longed for 
human companionship. 

What a friend and comrade he had been 
upon the raft! Every hour he was thinking 
of something new to take up her attention 
that her mind might not dwell too much on 
their situation. Now all was so different. 


JESSIE 


257 


He avoided her. He spoke only when it was 
absolutely necessary. Yet he was doing, as 
before, all he could to save them both. 

She crept to his side. He slept heavily, ly- 
ing on his back with his shirt open at the 
throat and one arm thrown above his head. 

‘What he has suffered!” Jessie murmured. 
“And how I have added to that suffering! 
He will never forgive me ; but at least I know 
him for what he is.” 

She stooped softly and touched her lips to 
his forehead one — twice. 

Wilbur Crane stirred a little in his sleep. 
With swift steps she sped out of the engine- 
room and betook herself to her own part of 
the ship. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

KISMET 

When the four boats left the supposedly 
sinking Fedora, it could hardly be called a 
well-organized desertion. Captain Robin- 
son’s awful death and the rapidity with 
which the water had deepened in the hold, 
quite deprived Mate Cartwright of his self- 
possession. 

The crew became unmanageable. The 
steward and his wife got into the captain’s 
boat with its crew, and left the ship at once. 

Mate Cartwright, instead of remaining 
until the last, as his position demanded, 
pushed off before Pawlin’s boat was ready. 

The three larger boats were rowed away 
into the darkness in the same direction. But 
a considerable interval elapsed between their 
departure and the launching of the second 
officer’s craft. 

There were four men in this boat — four 
men who carried with them when they left 
258 


KISMET 


259 


the Fedorovs side an awful secret. Three hu- 
man beings were left alive upon the sinking 
craft, and these four men were all in some 
way party to the crime. 

When Grandon Burke discovered the trick 
Orrin Pawlin had played upon them all — 
the supposed form in his arms was only a 
bundle of blankets — he was beside himself 
with rage and fear, 

^^You murderer! You devil!” he shrieked, 
and would have cast himself into the water 
had the mate not held him with one hand 
while he shipped the rudder with the other. 
The two sailors pulled rapidly from the 
steamship, anxious to be so far away that the 
suction would not drag the boat down. 

Burke finally fell into a sort of stupor, but 
Pawlin sat bolt upright at the helm all night. 
The sailors rowed and slept by turn. But 
they did as they chose. The second mate did 
not seek to command them. When the sun 
finally arose above the sea, not a living thing 
besides themselves could be seen on the water. 
The little craft was utterly alone. The three 
other boats had gone their way, while the 
steamer, they believed, had sunk. 


260 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


Pawlin aroused himself. “Men,” he said 
to the sailors, “I reckon you are sensible. 
What happened last night none of us could 
help. This boat’s small enough for us as it 
is. If we’d taken one, or both of them others 
aboard we’d have had mighty little chance 
of ever seeing the shore if the wind rose. It 
had to be. 

“An’ anyway,” he went on, his ugly face 
suddenly growing black and fierce, “if you 
tell more’n it’s wise to tell, you’ll find you’re 
both in it — an’ in it deep! D’you under- 
stand?” 

The two seamen looked at each other and 
nodded. One of them . spoke. “We know 
which side our bread’s buttered on, Mr. Paw- 
lin,” he said. “You can depend on us to slack 
away our jaw-tackle.” 

“All right. I’ll see that you don’t lose 
nothing by the wreck,” said the officer. “I’ve 
got prop’ty I can lay my hands on ashore.” 

“But how about him?'' and the other sailor 
motioned toward Burke. 

“Oh, I’ll fix him, never you fear,” re- 
sponded Pawlin. 

They put a spare oar up for a mast and 


KISMET 


261 


rigged a sail. Burke awoke while this was 
being done. Pawlin offered him some food, 
as they had already breakfasted; but the 
young man refused it. 

“Don’t be a fooll” ejaculated the second 
mate. “You can’t live without eatin’. We’ll 
be some days a-gettin’ in, ’nless we run across 
some craft.” 

“I’ll live long enough to see you hung — ^you 
murderer!” cried Don, his eyes blazing. 

“Oh, that’s the ticket, is it?” growled 
Pawlin, with an ugly smile. 

“If I live to see land I’ll make you answer 
for leaving Miss Martell to sink with that 
steamer.” 

“Now, I don’t believe that,” drawled 
Pawlin. “Men! you just git for’ard. I want 
a word alone with this young chap.” 

The sailors hesitated. “There don’t wanter 
be any killin’,” muttered one. “We’ve had 
enough of it, Mr. Pawlin.” 

“Don’t you fret, my man. I wouldn’t 
harm a hair of Mr. Burke’s head,” returned 
the Fedora's second officer calmly. 

The sailors went into the bow of the boat. 
The sail separated them from the mate and 
Don. 


262 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


*^See here,” said Pawlin, in a bass whisper, 
clutching Don by the shoulder. “YouVe got 
to listen to reason, you have.” He placed his 
lips close to the other’s ear and hissed his 
words into it. “That steamer warn’t injured 
by no collision. She struck that floatin’ wreck 
just a slantin’ blow. She was scuttledT 

“What?” gasped Burke. 

“She was scuttled at your father’s order,” 
whispered Pawlin. 

“What! My father? I don’t believe itl” 

“You will before I git through,” said the 
mate, grimly, and forthwith he detailed the 
whole plot to Simon Burke’s son. 

“Now, you see,” he concluded, “somehow 
that blasted Carter got wind of it, an’ he run 
an’ told the skipper. The girl was in the 
chart-room and heard it all. Them three 
knew it. 

“The cap’n was killed. But if I’d let either 
Carter or the girl get to land they’d blown 
the whole thing. I — I reckon I’d felt hemp 
’round my neck,” added Pawlin, “an’ your 
old man’d been with me. Leastways, he’d 
been ruined.” 

Don Burke groaned. “When you took us 


KISMET 263. 

aboard the Fedora, why did you go on with 
the plan?” he asked. 

‘Tf I hadn’t, it would have been all up 
with your father anyway.” 

‘‘How?” 

“That steamer an’ cargo was insured 
for over two hundred| and fifty thou- 
sand dollars. Her cargo wouldn’t have 
brought ten thousand at its highest market 
value. It’ll be a big haul for the old man 
an’ he told me he needed the money.” 

“Curse him!” cried the horrified young 
man. “May he take his money to the devil!” 

“That’s kinder tough on the old chap. 
You’ll feel better about it later. It was too 
bad about the girl, but what could I do?” 

“How do you know she knew of the plan to 
scuttle the Fedora?^* 

“Benny Mace overheard the three of ’em 
talking in the chart-rom. The port was open 
and they didn’t know it. He come and told 
me, an’ I saw that all I could do after that 
was to work quick.” 

“What became of Benny?” 

“He went in one of the other boats,” said 
Pawlin, slowly. Then he added : “This 


264 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

here’s a matter that the least said on’t, the bet- 
ter. What we all four must swear to is that 
we saw the steamer sink. Then your guv’nor 
can get his money without any haggling. He 
told me he’d missed a good many big deals 
lately, and that he needed cash bad.” 

“It will be a curse to us — that is all,” mur- 
mured Burke. “I doubt if we ever reach 
land alive.” 

“Pooh! Gammon!” 

“You’ll see!” muttered Don. “That girl’s 
death will follow us!” 

“Don’t be a granny,” scoffed Pawlin. 

But Don’s gloomy predictions seemed to 
have been inspired. The boat was not over- 
abundantly supplied with water and food, 
and they had to subsist upon short rations. 
There were few favoring winds. They did 
not see any of the other boats from the 
steamer, nor did any other craft cross their 
course. 

The second day a momentous accident oc- 
curred. Don, in shifting places with Pawlin, 
knocked the compass into the water. It sank 
instantly, and the four men were left staring 
into each other’s pallid faces. Without the 


KISMET 


265 


compass they could not be sure of keeping to 
the right course an hour. The accident was 
too serious for the second officer even to rage 
at Don for his awkwardness. 

Another day and night passed, and no sign 
of land appeared. But late that afternoon a 
vessel of some description was sighted to the 
southward. This fact revived their drooping 
spirits. They made all haste to turn the 
small boat’s prow toward the promised res- 
cuer, and one of the seamen hoisted his shirt 
to the top of the mast as a signal. 

The vessel came up very slowly, and be- 
fore long they made it out to be a steamship. 
The smoke was pouring out of her stacks, but 
her speed was not great. The breeze left 
them and they lowered their sail and took to 
the oars. The night shut down upon the sea 
before they came near enough to the steam- 
ship to attract attention, but the two lights 
hung in her fore chains denoted her position. 
She was lying still in the water. 

Pawlin encouraged his companions to pull 
their best. Hour after hour passed, and it 
drew near to ten o’clock. The sky was over- 
cast, and although they were now very near 


266 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

the steamship its outlines were scarcely 
visible. 

“It’s abandoned!” exclaimed Burke. 

“Nonsense! Didn’t she steam up here all 
right this afternoon? There’s somebody 
aboard, or there wouldn’t be lights in the 
bows. But they don’t keep much of a watch.” 

The boat finally bumped lightly against the 
side and Pawlin was the first to leap aboard. 
His companions followed. 

“Blame me if I like this, mates!” exclaimed 
one of the seamen hoarsely. 

“It’s sorter spooky,” admitted the other. 

“Oh, come on!” said Pawlin. “Ev’rybody’s 
below, for some reason. Think a big steam- 
er’d be deserted for nothing? Let’s see what 
her cabin looks like.” 

They descended the companionway stairs. 
A light was burning over the saloon table. 
Burke suddenly seized Pawlin by the arm. 

“What’s this?” he gasped. “It — it looks 
like the Fedora's cabin!” 

The second officer, startled, cast swift, won- 
der-stricken glances about him. His face 
was like chalk. His eyes bulged from their 
sockets. 


KISMET 


267 


Suddenly one of the stateroom doors 
opened with a sharp click. The four as- 
tounded men turned swiftly to see a woman’s 
figure framed in the doorway. 

Don Burke uttered a shriek and fell foam- 
ing and struggling to the floor. Pawlin 
sprang for the companionway to escape, but 
at the top of the stairs stood a man barring 
the exit. The face was that of the man whom 
he had last seen at the rail of the sinking 
Fedora! 


CHAPTER XXV 

^ViLBUR! WILBUR ! COME TO me!” 

“I’m blessed if it ain’t the Fedora, Bill!” 
muttered one of the seamen. 

“We was Jonahed, all right,” returned the 
other, staring at Wilbur Crane. 

Pawlin’s mind worked rapidly. He recov- 
ered from his surprise and saw the necessity 
of prompt action. 

“Seize that fellow, men!” he commanded. 
“D’ye hear? Ain’t I mate of this steamer? 
Git a move on you 1” 

Suddenly Crane drew his weapon from his 
bosom and pointed it squarely at the second 
officer’s head. 

“Don’t make another crack like that!” he 
exclaimed. “I ought to shoot you where you 
stand. But there’s a worse fate in store for 
you. I apprehend you for the murder of 
Benny Mace. And, by heaven, you shall 
swing for it!” 

Crane barely glanced at Jessie standing in 

268 


“WILBUR I WILBUR ! COME TO ME I” 269 

the doorway of her stateroom. “Open that 
door next you, Miss Martell. Thank you! 
There is nothing in there he can use as a 
weapon, I believe. Put the key in the outside 
of the lock. March in there, Mr. Pawlin! 
Don’t hesitate an instant!” 

Surlily the man obeyed. When he was 
locked in. Crane turned quickly to the two 
sailors. “Now what shall I do with you?” 
he demanded. 

“If it’s all the same to you I’d like to turn 
to with the rest of the crew, an’ I reckon my 
mate feels the same,” replied one, quickly. 

“There is no crew,” responded Crane. 

The sailors looked astonished. “No crew?” 
the second man muttered. “Then how the 
blazes did you get here?” 

“I worked the steamer myself. I can do 
without a crew for the rest of the voyage. 
By good rights I ought to put you aboard 
your boat and set you adrift again.” 

The two looked scared. 

“You’ll find us mighty useful, Mr. Carter,” 
one said, respectfully. 

“If you stay you’ll have to work harder 
than you ever did in your lives before,” said 


270 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


Crane. “And if you try to hold any com- 
munication with Pawlin, or with this fellow 
on the floor I’ll just as likely shoot you as 
not.” 

“Aye, aye, sir! We understand,” declared 
the men. 

“Then go on deck,” commanded Crane, 
and they obeyed. He followed them to the 
rail where the small boat was tied. He cut 
it adrift. 

“If the steamer sinks now we’ll all go to 
the bottom together,” Crane said dryly. 
“Now you can go below and get a night’s 
sleep.” 

He went back to the cabin. Jessie was 
kneeling beside Don Burke, bathing his face 
with water. She looked up when he entered. 

“He’s very bad,” she said. “He doesn’t 
know me at all.” 

Crane looked down upon the fellow with 
little tenderness. “By good rights,” he said, 
“I should throw him into a stateroom and 
lock him up as I did Pawlin.” 

“Oh, don’t do that! He must have some 
care.” 

“I suppose so. Well, for your sake I won’t 


“WILBUR ! WILBUR ! COME TO ME 271 

do it, though I don’t trust him a minute. His 
present illness may be a sham.” He picked 
Burke up bodily and carried him into Jessie’s 
room and laid him on the bed. She followed 
silently. After removing Don’s outer gar- 
ments and arranging the bedclothes, he 
stepped back. The stricken man was not en- 
tirely conscious, but he moaned and rolled 
his head from side to side. 

“He seems in great agony,” suggested Jes- 
sie, timidly. 

“He deserves to be,” responded Crane. 
“But it won’t kill him. If you need me, call. 
I shall either be on deck or in the engine- 
room.” 

He left her and went on deck and spent 
most of the night dozing at the door of the 
engine-room. Occasionally he crept to the 
cabin companionway to see that all was right 
below. Before morning he locked the two 
sailors into the forecastle, and, taking a lan- 
tern, went into the forward compartment 
where Pawlin had used his auger with such 
dire effect. He carefully examined every 
plug and found, as he supposed, that the sea 


272 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

was leaking in around several. But these he 
caulked and drove in more securely. Then 
he nailed down the cover of the manhole in 
the steerage leading into the next compart- 
ment and securely battened down the forward 
hatch. 

It was sunrise by the time he had finished, 
and he got a hasty breakfast for himself and 
the two sailors, passing their share into the 
forecastle. 

As soon as the food could be swallowed 
they went to work. Crane gave one the 
course, as near as he could guess it, and sent 
him into the wheelhouse. The other he took 
to the stoke-hole and explained his duties 
there. As he had promised, they were 
worked that day as they had never been made 
to toil before. But they did not complain. 
The Fedora was kept at a good rate of speed, 
and instead of banking the fires at night 
Crane was able to keep the engines running. 
He only took “cat-naps” himself, but he al- 
lowed each of the sailors a good six hours’ 
sleep in the twenty- four. Jessie locked Don 
into her stateroom in the afternoon and took 


“WILBUR ! WILBUR 1 COME TO ME I’’ 273 


the wheel while one of the men was below. 

Crane did not go near the saloon except to 
attend to Pawlin’s wants. He carried him his 
food and stood by while he ate, but he would 
not allow him to leave the stateroom. He 
did not see Don at all. Jessie told him that 
the latter appeared but slightly better. He 
seemed to suffer a great deal, but from what 
cause she could not tell. She was growing 
pale and wan herself, and Crane urged her 
to remain on deck as much as she could dur- 
ing the following two or three days. 

Don Burke’s suffering was not of a bodily 
nature. The groans which were at times 
forced from his lips were caused by the lash 
of memory. His mind gave him no peace by 
day or night. He could not sleep; he could 
not eat; he tossed in his berth, his mind ever 
busy with the problem which faced him. 

Crane seemed to be a man superior to his 
fellows. He rose above all difficulties. He 
trampled obstacles underfoot. The thought 
made Don Burke tremble. 

One afternoon, while Jessie was on deck, 
Burke heard Pawlin rapping on the parti- 


274 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


tion between the two staterooms. Although 
he feared and hated the villainous second of- 
ficer, he knew their interests were one. He 
replied to the summons. 

Alone?” asked Pawlin, in a tone just loud 
enough to be heard through the thin parti- 
tion. 

‘Tes.” 

The fellow chuckled. “You’ll do,” he said. 
“I thought you were pretty near off your 
chump. D’you know what we’ve got to do?” 

“I wish I did know,” groaned Burke. 

“I’ll tell you. We must get control of the 
steamer.” 

“How can we? You’re locked up, and 
there’s three men to overcome.” 

“Nonsense. There’s only one. The sail- 
ors don’t care who they strike hands with. 
In fact, they’d ruther it was me than him.” 

“But how will you get out?” 

“The key’s in the outside of the door,” said 
Pawlin. You can slip out of bed and 
turn it.” 

“Do it this evenin’. After he brings my 
grub and while she’s in the galley getting 
yours.” 


‘WILBUR ! WILBUR ! COME TO ME!’’ 275 

“But Jessie musn’t be hurt,” declared Don, 
quickly. 

“Thafs all right. Who wants to hurt 
her?” growled the other. “Hush! We may 
be overheard. Wait till I give the word.” 

After a time Jessie returned. Burke lay 
with his eyes closed, and she thought him 
asleep. 

He heard Crane come below with Pawlin’s 
supper. The prisoner ate rapidly and in ten 
minutes Crane took the dishes away. Don 
heard the key grate in the lock of the state- 
room door. 

Then Jessie went away. She had gone to 
prepare his supper. She did not stop to lock 
her door, and something like a chill struck 
to Don’s heart. He must do as Pawlin com- 
manded now. Had she locked the door, as 
she sometimes did, he could not have released 
the second officer. 

He waited one minute — two minutes — 
three. Then he heard Pawlin moving in the 
other room. 

“Now!” whispered the prisoner. 

For a minute Burke lay still, unable to 
move. 


276 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

He knew Pawlin was desperate and would 
hesitate at nothing. Nor would Crane give 
up the steamer without a struggle. There 
could be but one outcome, for Pawlin would 
take the other unawares. If he opened the 
door and released the prisoner it meant 
Crane’s death. 

^^Now!” hissed Pawlin. “Step lively.” 

Burke threw back the bed clothes and 
leaped out. He pulled on his trousers and 
softly opened the door. There was nobody 
in the saloon. 

“Hurry! Hurry!” breathed Pawlin behind 
his locked door. 

He shook the knob softly. Don took a step 
toward it. 

Suddenly he heard the swish of skirts be- 
hind him. Before he could turn and while 
his hand was outstretched to touch the key, 
his wrist was encircled by Jessie’s fingers. 

“Stop! What are you doing?” she cried. 

He was too startled to reply. Pawlin, be- 
yond the door, uttered a fearful oath. 
“Quick! Open it before she yells and brings 
him here!” he cried. 

The words brought Burke to his senses and 


‘‘WILBUR ! WILBUR 1 COME TO ME 277 

he tried to obey. But the girl pushed by him 
and placed her back against the door. 

“You shall not open it!’’ she cried. “Is 
this what you have been playing ill for?” 

“Blast her!” gasped Pawlin, shaking the 
door. “Let me out, Burke! Don’t let her 
stop you! Quick, man!” 

“You shall not!” repeated Jessie. “Don’t 
dare touch me! Oh!” 

Don had seized her wrists and pulled her 
away from the door. 

“That’s right,” growled Pawlin. “Yank . 
her out of the way! Stop her! Don’t let her 
yell like that!” he added, in sudden fright, 
for Jessie screamed. 

Burke flung her to one side. But before 
he could get to the key she was clinging to 
him again. “You shall not! You shall notl” 
she repeated, over and over. 

“Stop her cackling!” commanded the pris- 
oner, in an agony of apprehension. 

Burke, spurred to desperation, shook off 
her grasp, and, seizing her in turn he clapped 
one hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. 
But she was no weakling, and struggled with 


278 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


all her strength. Before he could turn the 
key she was free of him. 

“Help! help!” she shouted. 

“Stop her!” roared Pawlin. 

Beside himself with rage and fear, his eyes 
glowing like hot coals in his pallid lace, 
Burke clutched her again. He tore the gown 
half off her shoulders. One hand sought her 
throat. 

“Wilbur! Wilbur! Come to me!” 

The cry rang through the cabin. Then the 
cruel hand closed upon her throat and she 
could not repeat the summons. 

But Crane heard it. There was a clatter 
of feet upon the brass treads of the cabin 
stairs, and with white, startled face he ap- 
peared. He took in the situation at a glance, 
and a shout of rage burst from his lips. 

“Too late!” yelled Pawlin, shaking his 
prison door unavailingly. There was a terri- 
fied cry from Burke as he went down before 
the rescuer and lay, trembling and chatter- 
ing, upon the deck. Jessie had flown into 
Crane’s arms and hidden her face upon his 
breast. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

REWARD ACCORDING TO WORKS 

Two days later a steamship crept slowly up 
toward Buenos Aires and accepted the 
friendly offices of a tug a couple of miles be- 
low the city. The individual on her bridge, 
a tall young American dressed in a suit of 
blue which did not fit him, haggled consid- 
erably over the charge the tug’s captain made 
for towage. 

When the Fedora dropped anchor off the 
city and the people on the tug learned that the 
sharp Yankee, the girl at the wheel, and two 
sailors, were the only crew the steamer car- 
ried, they were quite wild. 

Crane would not give up his post until 
the American consul came aboard and he had 
formally entered his claim for salvage. His 
next duty was to turn Orrin Pawlin, once sec- 
ond officer of the Fedora, over to the authori- 
ties on the charge of manslaughter. 

“And what shall I do with Burke?” he de- 

279 


280 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 

manded, turning to Jessie, at whom the con- 
sul’s clerk was staring in open admiration, de- 
spite her rather dilapidated appearance. 

“Will you give him to me, Wilbur?” she 
asked pleadingly. 

A little cloud crossed Crane’s face. “If 
you wish,” he said, with coldness. 

But she gave him a brilliant smile and ap- 
proached the consul with a folded paper in 
her hand. 

“What’s this? What’s this?” cried the offi- 
cial, glancing over the document. “A con- 
fession — a deathbed confession of one Ben- 
jamin Mace? What is this?” 

Crane started forward, his face suddenly 
colorless. “A confession!” he exclaimed. 
“Of Benny Mace?” 

“Yes,” Jessie said, laying her hand lightly 
upon his arm. “I wrote it down just as he 
told me and he signed it. That is why I asked 
you for Don. I turn him over to you, Mr. Con- 
sul, and accuse him of the crime of forgery.” 

“At last!” murmured Crane, hiding his 
countenance. 

“What does it mean. Miss Martell?” asked 
the sympathetic consul. 


REWARD ACCORDING TO WORKS 281 


“It means that for over five years the ac- 
cusation of forgery has overshadowed Mr. 
Crane. More than four years of that time 
was spent by him in prison undergoing pun- 
ishment for another’s crime. Benny Mace 
confesses in that paper to having committed 
perjury at the trial. Grandon Burke, not 
Wilbur Crane, was the man who forged the 
check.” 

“I can’t say that I just understand,” said 
the consul mildly; but he did when Jessie 
had finished the tale. 

She also made it quite plain, incidentally, 
that Wilbur Crane was the bravest, most gen- 
erous-hearted man who ever — Well! what’s 
the use? She made it quite plain to the offi- 
cial, who was a discreet and elderly man with 
daughters of his own, that she was very much 
in love, indeed, with the man who had suf- 
fered for the crime he did not commit. 

Pawlin and Burke were removed to the 
city prison to await the slow process of the 
law. The two sailors were anxious to get 
away that they might not be mixed up in any 
investigation regarding the desertion of the 
Fedora. As they had been of so much assist- 


282 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


ance to him, Crane borrowed some money, 
paid them handsomely, and let them go. 

The first visitor to the Fedora after the con- 
sul was Mr. Nolan, who had been her purser. 
The three boats which had first left the 
steamer had arrived safely at Buenos Aires 
and reported the vessel a total loss. Mr. 
Cartwright did not appear, and, indeed, left 
the city as soon as possible when he learned 
that the steamship was in. He would lose his 
license upon investigation without a doubt. 

Crane had considerable difficulty in keep- 
ing from publicity certain facts regarding the 
Fedora's desertion and what had followed. 
It was not a part of his plan to tell of the at- 
tempt to scuttle the steamship. As long as she 
had not been lost, no demand would be made 
upon the insurance people, so he felt nobody 
really had a right to ask questions. 

But to satisfy his own curiosity he broke 
open certain cases in the cargo. There were 
a great many boxes with very well-known 
champagne labels on the cases, but the bottles 
within were filled with nothing stronger 
than water. There were great cases of very 
valuable china — so marked — filled with straw 


REWARD ACCORDING TO WORKS 283 


and cheap earthernware. And other items in 
the bills of lading were of a like nature. 

Crane took but one person besides Jessie 
Martell into his confidence. That was a 
shrewd lawyer whom their kind friend, the 
American consul, recommended. He found 
a trustworthy man to relieve Crane as ship- 
keeper, and the latter went to stay with the 
consul, where Jessie had preceded him. 

Three weeks after the Fedora's arrival the 
lawyer had a caller one day. It was Simon 
Burke, who had left Boston directly upon 
learning of the loss of the Red Arrow and the 
fact that Don had been picked up by the 
Fedora and taken to Buenos Aires. 

am told that I can not go aboard my 
own steamer — the Fedora — and that you have 
control of the matter,” blustered Burke. 

“I have the honor to act for the brave man, 
who, almost unaided, I might say, brought the 
steamship into port,” answered the lawyer. 

“And he expects salvage, I suppose?” 
snarled Simon Burke. 

“He does.” 

“What does he want?” asked Burke, wet- 
ting his lips in a nervous manner. 


284 WILBUR CRANE’S HANDICAP 


“Possibly the cargo and the steamer had 
better be appraised and the courts adjust the 
amount,” the lawyer said slyly. 

“Aheml Are you aware that will be a long 
process?” demanded Burke, paling a trifle. 

“My client is well aware of that.” 

“Come, now! what will he take — lump sum 
— for what he considers his rights?” 

The lawyer looked Burke over slowly. He 
was tapping the arms of his chair nervously 
as he tried to look unconcerned. 

“Fifty thousand dollars,” said the lawyer, 
at last. 

“What? Fifty thousand fiddlesticks!” 
gasped Burke. “Why! The cargo was never 
worth anything like that.” 

“My client knows that, my dear sir,” re- 
sponded the man of law. “In fact, it is because 
he knows it, that the demand is made. Fifty 
thousand dollars will satisfy his claim ; not a 
cent less.” 

“It’s preposterous! I’ll never agree to it!” 
blustered Burke. “Why, the cargo ” 

“Was insured for more than two hundred 
and fift}' thousand. Mr. Crane has examined 
it and knows its value.” 


REWARD ACCORDING TO WORKS 285 


^^Mr. who?” 

“Mr. Crane — Mr. Wilbur Crane. He said 
you would doubtless remember him.” 

There was no doubt in the lawyer’s mind, 
from a perusal of Simon Burke’s face, that he 
did remember. 

“He — he The villain!” he cried. 

“Why, he’s a criminal — a convict! A man 
who has served five years for forgery! Do 
you suppose for a moment that any court 
would believe his word?” 

The lawyer hesitated to tell the man that 
his own son was now being held to answer 
to that self-same charge. He only said: 

“There’s a man named Pawlin in jail here 
awaiting extradition papers to the States for 
manslaughter. It would be an easy matter to 
take him out of jail on another charge, and 
doubtless he could give much interesting in- 
formation regarding the Fedora/^ 

Then Simon Burke quailed. “I — I am in 
your power,” he mumbled, and suddenly 
looked a weak, broken old man. 

Two months later Wilbur Crane, together 
with Jessie Martell and her aunt, sailed for 


286 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


Boston. Matters had been satisfactorily ar- 
ranged between Crane and Simon Burke — 
that is, satisfactorily for the former. The 
fifty thousand dollars demanded had been 
paid over in hard cash and negotiable bonds 
and papers. 

Pawlin escaped a life sentence, and the 
newspapers a very spicy trial, by dying in his 
cell before the extradition papers reached 
Buenos Aires. 

At least one person — Simon Burke — 
breathed more freely when this occurred. 
Already, his part in the settlement of his 
affair with Crane finished, he had hurried 
back to the States. There he had worked with 
such despatch that when the young people 
and Mrs. Buchanan arrived in Boston, he had 
withdrawn from the shipping firm and re- 
moved from the city. 

He did not even appear at the reopening of 
the case of the Commonwealth against the 
forger of the two thousand dollar check, 
which had caused Wilbur Crane so much suf- 
fering. Don Burke had the best lawyers 
money could procure, but the evidence given, 
by Benny Mace on his death bed could not be 


REWARD ACCORDING TO WORKS 287 

refuted. As Crane had once prophesied, 
Grandon Burke’s punishment was twice his 
own, in length of sentence at least. 

“Paper? All about the conviction of a 
rich young man for forgery!” 

The newsboy held an evening paper out to 
Crane just as he turned into the Martell 
place. 

“Poor Don!” sighed Jessie, as she and Wil- 
bur together read the verdict of the jury and 
the judge’s sentence. “Ten years, Will! 
And afterwards — ^what?” 

“I am afraid I can’t say ‘poor Don,’ Jessie. 
Perhaps I’m wrong, but the five years of that 
life has scarred too deeply to leave much but 
bitterness toward Don. If he had been a 
stranger! But a boy I had known all my 

“But, let it go. I will keep my eyes on the 
future. There is the shipping firm of Martell 
& Crane — that’s great, girl! great!” 

“And me. Will? Don’t I count, too?” 

“Jessie, my darling, you count most of all! 
If it were not for you and your encourage- 
ment, I don’t believe, even yet, I could go on 
in life, handicapped by that — that ” 

“Sh! dear one,” she whispered softly. 


288 WILBUR CRANFS HANDICAP 


‘‘Only two days now, and we’ll start a new 
life — life together. We’ll throw off all handi- 
caps, and we’ll win! You’ll see — we’ll win!” 
She laughed softly and tremulously. 

“My own!” he whispered, holding her 
close. 

The dusk gradually crept about them. 
Presently there was a rap on the door, and 
the butler entered and switched on the electric 
lights. 

“The light!” she cried gayly. “From now 
on, that shall be the symbol of our life to- 
gether, Will!” 

THE END 








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